The wind caught the pages and the entirety of its body shook in my hands. I don't know why I gripped it so tightly. It could have been any book, considering all the books in the world. It looked as ordinary as a snowflake in a Shunderland winter storm.

 

"I like that," the man said. "Good way to describe a book."

​

But I hadn't said it. I only thought it.

​

"Original and ordinary at once," he said. "It could last forever, or it could melt away this afternoon in the palm of your hand." His hat went back on his head and his shadow crooked away over the sharp ridges.

​

I followed, knowing it led to a warm and still place.