Hunting the Stacks

The halls of the crumbling library were alive with skitterings and scampering, the rustle of paper skidding across the wooden floor.

“Be careful, lad,” advised old Theo. “These are the old ones. They’ve been sopping up knowledge since the first words was chipped into stone.”

Stryn clutched his blodge – the stocky wooden paddle favored by book-hunters – and tugged nervously at the net slung over his shoulder. “Dangerous, Master?”

“Cunning,” Theo said. “A little smarts is a dangerous thing, especially for a book.”

“Shouldn’t we be better armed, master? Something they’d fear, like fire?”

Theo blanched. “Burn them? Burn the books!?”