Arlen had spent the majority of the past few days in a paint store.

There were many reasons he had put himself in this unfortunate position of needing to visit one of the horribly chemically smelling stores, but the most notable of these was that he had been recently setting about patching holes in Ye Bochord with a bucket of joint compound.

Now, to Arlen's credit, it had been working incredibly well---so much better than any of his other ideas previous. And as an added bonus, it was also doing well to seal up all the strange cracks in the ceiling that had been forming and adding an extra layer of stress to his work weeks---was the ceiling going to cave in? Would he be crushed under debris and books, or worse---would one of his patrons?

No, no. That would not do. Not at all.

But the downside to this magical solution (because really; all magic came with a price), was that in patching the mess that was the cracks and holes in the ceiling, Arlen was also, unfortunately, ruining the mural that was painted across it.

The beautiful thing had taken it's hits, over the years, and it had slowly faded to such an extent that Arlen doubted anyone would be able to guess its depiction by simply glancing at it. But Arlen remembered it. And he was heartbroken to see yet another part of the old girl and her storied life fade away into the recesses of his own memory.

That seemed to be where a lot of things hid these days. Sometimes it worried him. Was his life even real if it only existed within the boundaries of his own mind? Was Ye Bochord just an old, lone pine, falling in an ocean of them, with nobody around to hear it?

He couldn't tell. He didn't want to ponder that too long.

No. Today he was getting paint. And this paint was important, because it was going to help him bring the library back. This library was his home, and he was going to keep her safe as much as she did for him.

He may not be as good as the original artist---not by a mile, but he was prepared to try his best. And that would just have to be enough.

Now, that only left him with one rather important question.

What picture did Arlen want to scrawl across the ceiling of something so sacred? What was he going to take the time to sketch and colour and shade across the sprawling expanse of the only sky he really knew these days?

This was how his library said hello. This was important. And the little librarian was going to treat it with the care and thoughtfulness that it deserved.

There were many things that Arlen liked, of course. Many subjects to pick from, and as an avid reader who consumed ever so many genres, it was rather difficult to---

Oh.

Well, that was an idea.

With a slight grin, Arlen collected some paint swatches, and ran out the door, towards his library.

He was going to have his work cut out for him.