Tapping the old pages of his notebook, Cymir watched the professor's swift motions. Practiced marks covered the chalkboard. All the while speaking with a tease in their voice. Enthralled, the youth listened to the simplistic elucidation of magical arts. Every so often his peers would interject with confusion. To those interruptions the professor joyfully smiled and quickly answered with elaborations. Letting the lecture's flow stay uninterrupted.

  Was education always this concise? Pondering such the youth glanced at the other students. Each one silently listened while penning notes. Some showed unease, others were carefree, while a few fought the draw of sleep. The youth could not help but smile under the afternoon's glow.

  Sadly simplistic pleasures never persisted forever. Despite lasting an hour the experience flew by and ended. Looking down at his notes the youngster held a face of confliction. Nothing new. Scratching the back of his head the youth's eyes began to wander once more. Drawn towards the glass wall and the courtyard beyond.

  As idle thoughts passed through the mind a hand impended his view. It gently shook to attract attention. Turning towards its owner he found a complexion waning against time. Although such loses were not as comparable to yesterday's instructor.

  "How's class today?" The professor asked.

  "Class?" Cymir repeated, "It's... It's great..."

  Raising an eyebrow, the professor showed a small smile. Without another word he nodded and walked away. The student pondered for the reason. Alas it did not matter. Not giving another thought the youth packed and left. Marking the end of the day's lessons. As the door closed the professor glanced over and recalled a memory of last spring. Muttering how another gale wandered east.

  As always the salty cold greeted all. Stepping out he watched his breath dance in the chilled air. Seemed the morning's warmth faded along with the day. What to do? The day's events finally led to a moment of tranquility, yet brought restlessness. Although he desired to start those commissions, authorizations and certificates were not delivered till days after. Even then he doubted Menor would follow so soon.

  Taking a gander around campus Cymir explored the concrete architecture. Unlike his imagination the city flourished in subtle vibrancy. His hand felt the cold, rough textures of imitations. As if those walls of wood, bricks or plaster were petrified. In truth showed simple artesian mastery, yet mimicry brought a sense of unease. Stepping back, the student stared at the sky. Clouds formed and covered the city in a de-saturated shade. Ever so gently, flutters of white snowed down. Perhaps the southern climate led to sluggish springs.

  From here to there, eventually, he wandered off into the surrounding city. Although following the paths he took before, to venture by oneself brought unrushed moments. As such curiosity naturally followed.

  As the skies grew downcast Cymir kicked around slush. Under his steps quiet streams slithered between the titles. All melted from piles of snow thrown to the side. Noticing the detail he knelt down. Warmth, albeit of the lowest degree, lingered within the water and met his hand. They really conquered the winter. He thought, recalling those details of the Peninsula.

  Shaking off drops from his hand wanderlust continued to pull. The road held a bright illumination under the overhangs. Such were a sign of glasswork; focusing and dispersing light. Under that waning light the youth took out his journal. Leaving his satchel rustling with stray coins loose. He senselessly flipped to a blank page with a pencil in hand. Despite his knowledge it was worthwhile to take note as such small details captivated him

  Distracted, he moved onwards till someone tugged his sleeve. A child no more than of a dozen years, wearing woolen clothes, had pulled his attention. With polite words the kid returned his lost coins and hurried off holding basket of groceries veiled in a visible layer of heat. Even the kids moved in haste, he thought. Such claims accompanied him as he continued his ventures.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  Gradually as the day passed on, clusters of people began to traverse the roads. All bundled up in thick clothing. From leathered fur to thick wool. Akin to bipedal bears starving off the cold days. Closing his journal a longing held the youngster. His eyes stared into the distance, past the falling snow, with overwhelming anticipation, yet...

  Pulling up the collar of his coat, Cymir stood at an intersection. His breath hazed as a shelf of books caught his sight. Beyond the window such a place could not be described as grand nor modest. More of a bookstore with its size. The place laid snugged at the crossroads of social and shopping streets. Hidden behind promotion boards of other businesses.

  A quiet ring sounded out as he stepped through its glass doors. The world seemed to hush as if sounds were cut clean. Lit by warm hues, the scent of aged paper, with a hint of florals, filled the air. In contrast to the college's library the lack of expanse led to a cozier notion. One that allowed the youngster to breath. As if right from fiction books littered the walls, rafters and every surface imaginable. Every nook held a story with works in every cranny. The youngster wondered how such tales here differed. A fantasy's fantasy.

  Taking off his jacket curiosity drew his sights. Above were another two floors and catwalks of space. Around were scatted and piled papers that he carefully stepping around. As expected the books that leaned on the shelves held an assortment of covers and edges. Albeit muted with by time. Remembering a few memories Cymir pulled out one of myths and legends.

  Soft pages rubbed against fingertips. Illustrations of fanciful beasts and locations filled the book's margins. Warm-blooded vipers of the frozen forests to the earthen beasts of the feudal lands. Many upon many wonders took form. Seemingly dancing in ink. Each captured his imagination, especially of those he never knew. Walking along bookshelves his eyes skimmed. How long would it take to read all of this? A month or two? Maybe even a year?

  Returning the book of myths back a peculiar spine drew his eye. Its edge held earthly embroidery akin to a planted garden. Matching the current scent. The design brought a herb to mind. Winter's Thaw. A herb set as the objective of his, no, their request later this week. They use those for medicine, maybe? He vaguely recalled something to do with wounds and bandages. Despite such knowledge how they were obtained was never described.

  With those thoughts he reached out- the book slid away. Pulled from the other side. Letting out a breath of surprise the mutter caught the perpetrators attention. Through the gap light brown eyes peered through, widened with surprise. A soft voice gasped as apologizes followed. Pattering steps hurried from there to his isle. Tripping, slipping and tumbling upon the landscape of perpetual books came a lass of short, brown hair.

  "SORRY!" the girl yelled, from within a flurry of paper, "I, uh, didn't see you."

  Despite wearing a high-collar jacket that covered her form a beaming expression showed. Although it held a tinge of worry. To that joyous atmosphere Cymir could not but step back amongst the scent of flowers.

  "Ah, its ok," Cymir replied, shaking his head, "I can find another another one."

  "There... there isn't another one," she replied, "I looked for others to buy, but this was the only one. I could..."

  "Oh... Um, I just wanted to look something up."

  "Ah, perfect!"

  Hearing such the lass hopped a few steps forwards and opened the book. Cheerfulness sprung from her words as she asked which while flipping through the pages. Akin to the book of myths, each page held etchings of plants with details till the edge. She explained the book was a third edition of Rue's Encyclopedia of Apothecarian Herbs. These older versions always held removed information for the sake of formatting. Reaching the entry she leaned over to show Cymir.

  Sticks. Such where the first thoughts his mind brought forward. The depiction of the Winter's Thaw were simple stems, colored a dull yellow, crowned by white buds. Akin to a stick stuck in snow. Apparently these herbs never held vibrancy. The colorless sketch did not seem far from the truth.

  A concerned mutter came out as the pair read its entry. With a thud the lass closed the book. Admitting older editions held as much fraudulent information as truth. Thaws should not be harvest by the roots. Rather tie the stems and cut below the knot. On the other hand, Cymir complained how the herb had not a single similarity to grass.

  The pair stared at each other. Silently repeating each other words as if the taste a foreign fruit touched their tongues. Breaking into quiet laughter right after. Once the merry moment passed the girl cleared her throat and offered the common foraging knowledge. To such the youngster nodded and took out his journal.

  A book bought and knowledge learned. When time passed the two left the building and soon parted ways. Still the snow solemnly danced from the clouds whilst the sun left the sky. Looking around Cymir had no idea where he was.