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The library was new, since Lara had last been at the Inn. And it was truly fantastic in its variety, literally so; there were books in languages she’d never even seen before! All-new syntax to puzzle out, new patterns of thought... new to her, anyway. Some of the books were quite old.

One such book, on a shelf too high for her to reach conveniently, had words on its spine it was looked intriguingly almost like Mongolian script. Rather than cast about for a stepladder, Lara had simply climbed the shelf, ignoring the just-a-sting-really in her rock-abraded leg. Once she had the book, though, it seemed like a good idea not to jump down. Even if black yoga capris wouldn’t show blood, having to change and maybe explain that she’d reopened wounds because of impatience seemed like a hassle.

So she stayed where she was, considering other ways down that were gentle and wouldn’t force her to abuse the book.
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