As the day slowly comes to an end and the color of the sun shifts from yellow to a soft red, we see the place where our story begins. On a hill covered in green grass sits a girl, barely seven years old, with golden hair. Next to her stands a small creature on two legs, with a large mouth, round eyes, a somewhat silly-looking expression, and short, chubby little arms.
However, neither of them is paying attention to the other. Instead, their focus lies on an old, slightly worn book resting in the girl's lap, its pages softly rustling in the gentle breeze.
"Hey, Gible, do you think this story really happened?"
"Aw-o!"
"Hmm… I think he really existed too. But it's strange that in other historical documents there's never any mention of him."
"Awo a-wo?"
"You want me to read the story again? Don't you ever get tired of hearing the same thing over and over?"
"Awo! Awo wo wo!!"
"Haha, Gible, what are you doing? Stop! Stop! You're drooling all over my face! Alright, alright… we'll read it one more time, okay?"
"Come here. Sit next to me and stop climbing all over me. We're starting now."
To whoever may be reading this: I hope you do not expect too much from the book I am writing here. This is merely the life story of an old wanderer and his companions. It is not a made-up tale that keeps you awake with suspense, nor a tragedy meant to break your heart.
It is simply the story of how I met my partners—my family—and how we traveled the world together. We discovered many wonderful places, some so beautiful that I can hardly describe them with words.
But that was likely a very, very long time before you ever picked up this book.
So if you have nothing else to do, and you are willing to give an old man like me a little of your time, then allow me to tell you my story.