Sitting alone in the library, the smell of books old and new, the turning of pages. The scribe wrote on pages which he felt needed notes. Calm and collected this man always was, it was like he was a robot, turning each page was seemingly automatic for him. Until, you may or may not have fallen and taken a bookshelf with you… perhaps it’s not as sturdy as you thought. Yet, you thought that no one would even notice until you heard the scribe/acting grand masters voice. “Are you okay?”