Standing from his rickety chair, he stretched toward the ceiling, claws brushing up against the off-white-towards-gray paint momentarily before he leaned to the side to stretch.
If there were any one place that Dee belonged, it was here. Here in one of the study rooms in the seminary library. There were books here. There was the quiet contemplation of knowledge, the surety of faith, and the heady scent of aging paper.
And, he mused. Far fewer people.
-He had five minutes until the library closed, which, he figured, was enough time for him to return the book and start the walk back to the dormitory without needing to endure any encounters with the pages sweeping the stacks for lingering students.
+He had five minutes until the library closed, which, he figured, was enough time for him to return the book and start the walk back to the dormitory without needing to endure any encounters with the pages sweeping the stacks for lingering students. Sure enough, the only other person he encountered on his way out was the page who numbly accepted his book at the returns desk. A wordless exchange — no small talk, not even a thank you.