The chamber was lit, rather serenely, by dozens of candles, more of which were being igniting at that moment. Outside, the rain was thick and the clouds were thicker still, the lightning had subsided during the week, but the storm remained behind the shroud of vapour. The scroll master's dwellings housed tables upon tables; circular and cavern-like, like the inside of a fruit the recesses were framed by curving arches in the walls. Adjusting one pair of the many specs sat on his beak, he blew out the match once the last candle was alight. He preferred working at night.

Picking up his quill, he resumed his writing, pausing ever now and then to dip the nib into a pot of ink. For a long while, he repeated this action, write, dip, scribble. The sound was calming, the candles rippling uneasily in the stale air.

Clunk.

His hand paused, glaring at the page until his eyes blurred. He then peered about, indignant, though his head didn't turn. His beak was so close to the page during writing that he could've been stuck on it. "..."

With a small huff, he went back to his work.

They'd all be on edge since the...incident with the new skeksis and UrRu. Two of them, they were certain of; the teal boy and the blind one. But the other two had vanished from the castle. Thus they had no answers...

His thoughts trailed away from that regrettable night and back to his scrolls.

Then, again. A clunk. He paused, ink dripping off the end of his quill. He turned his long head, panning it along his dwelling. He couldn't see anything, and yet –

He placed the quill back into the ink bottle and stood up, slowly making his way into the centre of the chamber. The candles swayed gently as he passed by. There weren't many hiding places in here, anything scuttling about would be seen easily. If one of SkekTek's animals had escaped again –

Rattle.

He stiffened.

Theoretically, he could call for the garthim. He could – leave this room, slowly and quietly. He could stand his ground and toss it out himself.

Or he could just investigate and assure himself that it was nothing. That sounded rather insane, so he simply stood there, for a moment, eyeing the place. Then, one of the tables chattered, like it had been struck. The various ink bottles trembled like they'd been brushed by a gust of air. The skeksis stared, eyes wide, then scowled. If this was some fool's trick, aiming to make a jester out of him, they'd better think again –

He drew close, curious despite himself, though his annoyance had clouded any apprehension he had. He clutched the sheet strung over the counter-top and pulled it back –

"Hhhssssss!"

SkeOk recoiled like he'd been burnt.

There, huddled between two neighbouring tables against the wall, shrouded in the dark the candle-light couldn't reach, was –

The skeksis youth. But not the right one.

He'd seen the other one, teal feathers, small, fragile, as weak as a babe, this one was curled up, but it was taller, bigger, in the dark he saw a pair of deep, blurry brown eyes and white teeth bore in a snarl. Growling.

It leaped. SkekOk threw himself back as its legs hit the table-top, knocking them over, toppling dozens of quills, scrolls and bottles of ink that shattered loudly against the floor. It landed on all fours, crouching like an otter, skidding across the ink-laced stone before kicking off into the hall with a throaty, distorted yowl.

It was gone in a blur of cream, gold and bronze, disappearing into the dark hallway. The scroll keeper lay against one of the few still-standing tables, a hand over his chest, heart hammering hard enough against his feeble ribs to break the bone. One of his pairs of spectacles had slipped off balance.

"...Wh-wh...?"