For my mother,
with love, respect, and admiration
And for Paty,
whose liking for the Hammarleedings
encouraged me to tell Livli’s story
Livli rerolled the scroll carefully, returned it to its pigeonhole, and sighed. The whisper of her breath sounded loud in the quiet space, as had the crackle of the brittle parchment and the faint click of the closing cabinet door. The tale of The Princess and the Griffon did not have the reference she was looking for. Neither had The Lindworm's Eyrie nor Triton's Egg.
“Why am I bothering,” she murmured. “It's a wild gos chase.”
But she knew why she was bothering. She really, really wanted the information in whatever tale it was. “I wish I could remember.” But she couldn't remember. Of course, she could ask her birth-mother. Sarvet would undoubtedly reel off an entire list of the folktales she'd told her children at bedtime. But I don't want her to know . . . what I'm thinking about right now.
Livli sighed again and shifted uncomfortably. Having to pee so often was for the birds. I just got back from the dump-buckets! I'm not traipsing through all three of those long corridors again. At least not right away.
Instead she straightened and moved over to the windows. The view was incredible. Not so much for its scope – a vista across a snowy valley brushed by clumps of dark pines, bounded by granite cliffs, and presided over by tall mountain peaks was ordinary in Hammarleeding enclaves – but for its wavy presence through glass while Livli stood indoors within warmth. The scroll-lodge of Siajotti was richly supported by all the sister-lodges and brother-lodges, and a library needed good lighting. So Siajotti had glass in its windows rather than hide coverings. And the scroll repository itself had big windows.