Mythshaper

“Oi, boy, quit making a mess of the shelf,” said a gruff voice from behind, breaking me out of my reading.

Closing the book I was holding, I turned to find a middle-aged man putting new books on the emptier part of the shelf. His movements were slow, patient, the kind that only came with age.

“I’m not messing, sir.” I was unaware if he was the owner or only a worker here, but it didn’t hurt to be respectful.

“Of course you are,” the man said harshly, pointing at the shelf exactly where I had left a bunch of books after browsing. To prove his point, he grabbed one of them and placed it in the middle of another shelf, sighing deeply. “Why did I even bother to think a child would understand order and cataloguing? Listen, you need to put the books back where you found them. Otherwise, people will have trouble finding what they’re looking for.”

I wanted to argue, to put my case forward, but he was right. I had messed up the arrangement, hadn’t I?

“Sorry, sir,” I said. “I’ll put them back where they were.”

“Leave it.” The middle-aged man clicked his tongue. “You probably don’t even remember where they were to begin with.”

With that, he set about reorganising the books. Then, as if the thought had just struck him, he asked, “Can you even read, or are you just looking at the pictures?”

“I can read.” My response came out snappier than I intended. I wanted no smear on my intellect. Sighing, I held out the tome in my hand. “I’m actually going to buy this.”

“Secret History of Althelon,” he read the title and murmured something under his breath about pretentious kids.

Moving away from the rude salesman, I entered another section. Half an hour had passed since we entered the bookshop, and I had barely managed to contain my excitement. How could I not? After all, this was the first time I was ever surrounded by so many books.