What was it from? Who wrote it? Why did he know what it meant? Surely he didn't know Latin, though he could recognize it. Was it from some stuffy roman scholar, or were its origins more biblical? Malory would prefer the latter, of course, but Eles didn't want to think that he had been a devout anything during the times before his memory loss. Perhaps the quote was a poor clue about who he was before, but it was one of the few remaining after he'd crossed scars, tattoos, and missing person reports off the list.
His best guess for where to go next was a bookstore. He'd seen a few, primarily on restaurant- and cafe-laden streets or sandwiched between small storefronts. People who worked there had to like reading. Maybe they'd remember the phrase.
Or, better yet, maybe they were competent enough with computers (and actually had a computer handy) that they could look up the quote and find the author. Or the book from whence it came. Then that would mean… Well, he read a ******** book before he lost his memory.
But it was something. And it was that stubbornness that bore him across the threshold of the book shop, bell at the top ringing to announce his entry. It smelled of fresh book inside, with each shelf organized by genre and then by artist, with some bestsellers or staff picks standing out here or there for how they were faced differently. It was, to be fair, a lot of books. Eles was fast realizing that he wouldn't even know which genre he should start in, if any.
Then he heard a whispered excuse me behind him and realized he was standing in the way. Shifting away from the entry, he began to wander, more than a little lost.
lena roze
