OOM: A Rite of Passage... Again

[herr_bookman]

"Would you please be quiet!" Autor's voice thundered through the library, prompting a wave of eep!s and ssh!s. That task done, Autor sighed as he sat down. He thumbed listlessly through the pages of his most recent text and then started packing up.

A brisk walk across town brought him to Drosselmeyer's shrine underneath Autor's parents' inn. He peered into the dimly-lit room and sneezed at the scents of dust and ink. Books and parchments were scattered everywhere. A writing desk sat in a corner with a family chart spread out across it, and there was more than one delicate-looking teakettle nearby.

Autor soaked himself and his clothes with a pitcher of water--ritual ablutions, Drosselmeyer had called them--and prepared to stand, saying nothing, doing nothing. For three days.

He dug his shoes into the wood.

---

Three days after Autor had begun to stand in place, he raised his groggy head and lurched into action. And now his neck hurt. His neck hurt, and he was tired. His neck hurt, he was tired, and he wanted to go home.

But he couldn't yet. He lifted the pen Teja had given him and scribbled a note. Then he staggered out the door, wiping his nose.

Soon--and not remembering quite how he got there--Autor found himself facing down a rock. Too tired to object, the aspiring Spinner closed his fingers around the stone. Quiet draped around him, and he dipped his head.

Please, please work, he thought, sniffing again. I'm so tired.

And from the oak tree's roots, he heard... A faint sigh, which someone without the power to spin Stories which bend reality might dismiss as that of the wind.