One could feel the books whispering, calling, after the lights were put out and everybody left, everybody but me. I was all alone in that ancient library, and I could feel their murmurings all around me as I crept among the towering shelves. But the tome I sought was a wary one who would only be heard by its silence. Silent as the grave my foot fell, my ears ready to hear a gap in the soft noise of those verbose volumes. Amid the time weathered spines and fading, golden titles, I stopped.
A black book, how appropriate, with no name sat among its brethren, sat there as mute as death. The low chatter all around it could not hide that dark silence.
Here was the most dangerous part of my quest: I reached out my hand to touch it. Cold as ice, that black leather burned like fire, the olden magic warding off my touch. Was that a flicker too of blue flame warding me off? Here, indeed, was the book.
Softly, I chanted that ancient prayer I’d found on that decaying segment of scroll, whispering in that forgotten tongue the words of friendship.
My hand stretched forth again—and yes, this time I saw a swirl of blue light and fire—but it held no fear for me. I touched the book and was unhurt though the flames danced along my hand and up my arm. With a whispered spell, I fell into the shadows, pulling the book away with me into the dark passages of the Murk which had long been forgotten in this marbled city.
The book was mine, and its secrets only time and study would unveil. Time, and uninterrupted study. It was time to go home.
Tale Told 
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