"It's been a while since anyone came this way, hasn't it?" Inric stoops to avoid a beam of wood which has fallen to partially block the entrance to the room he has been searching for. Copper waits for him within, twitching his tail. Inric makes his way to the shelves, muttering coordinates under his breath, running his fingers over the spines. Then he stops.
"Ah, here it is. 15A, 36K, 467. Ossechia." He carries the book to the table and opens it. "Eight hundred years since the last scholar-mages left? It has been a while." He remembers Jakin's eager face, and can't stop himself smiling. "And they even left some fond memories, too. That makes for a nice change."