Maybe she hadn’t seen this book in her brother’s collection yet, or maybe she hadn’t noticed it since witnessing the mysterious door, but Leohtwyn would recognize the motif when she chanced on it: an emblem of three mountains, framed by swirling clouds. The book cover was embossed leather—the effect of the door's marble inlay was reproduced in the layered quilt-work of stitched, colored hide. There was no writing on the cover, no title, but inside the script was not the lithe, sloping script she’d seen the Lady say was Elvish, nor the more familiar jaunty westron with its round bellies and long legs. It was bold and stern, but somehow yielding, compelling. It drew you in just as much as it barred your way.
The script was Dwarvish, if she could tell. Inside were sketches. They appeared set into the text with purpose, some with captions she could not read. The door was one of them, but there were other things—aspects architectural, the separated structures of plants, landscapes either too close or too far or at an odd angle to recognize. They made no sense to her, but a single page had been marked with a ribbon embroidered in the same strong geometric style. It was bare of images, only text, and maybe it was simply where someone had left their last page read, but maybe it was more than that.
Either way, it was a discovery worth sharing.
