Pippin gave the door a nudge with his foot and watched as it swung back slowly with a creak and a sigh. Air whooshed from the room, hot and musty, and dust motes tickled his nose. Not for the first time, he crept inside, pausing to eye the great desk. The book lay open, exactly as before, the grimy smudges on the yellowed page the only evidence of his earlier intrusion. Pippin hesitated for only a moment before carefully scooping the volume into his arms. Settling on the couch, he turned the pages one by one, squinting at the faded ink, the antiquated handwriting taking some effort to interpret. Sweat trickled from his brow as he read, and he brushed at his face absent-mindedly with a grimy sleeve. A soft breeze from the open door caressed his cheek and Pippin sat back, eager to enter that long-ago world.