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The Librarian
Near the base of the final mountain range I found the door described to me deep in some mystic hills.
Tall, wide, and weathered, it opened easily and I entered a room of more dark wood and the barest gentle scent of old flowers now long dried, emerging from ancient vases of porcelain and clay.
Shelves covered the walls to the tall ceiling, filled with books.
I went to the desk, and there his head slowly raised. I set down my leather pack.
"I would like a few words of truth," I said.
He slowly turned, left his stool, and went to the wall behind him. There he pressed down on a small lever protruding at waist height.
The wall creaked a while, then parted and slid away with a low rumble, revealing a vista -- long miles of shelves, higher and wider than I could see, filled with books.
He turned back to me slowly.
"Yes," he said in a low whisper.
~~~
Tall, wide, and weathered, it opened easily and I entered a room of more dark wood and the barest gentle scent of old flowers now long dried, emerging from ancient vases of porcelain and clay.
Shelves covered the walls to the tall ceiling, filled with books.
I went to the desk, and there his head slowly raised. I set down my leather pack.
"I would like a few words of truth," I said.
He slowly turned, left his stool, and went to the wall behind him. There he pressed down on a small lever protruding at waist height.
The wall creaked a while, then parted and slid away with a low rumble, revealing a vista -- long miles of shelves, higher and wider than I could see, filled with books.
He turned back to me slowly.
"Yes," he said in a low whisper.
~~~
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