Sam and his moustaches.

It was late afternoon when Silas found himself in the library, curiously running his index finger along the spines of books that rested on the shelves. For a long while, he had been meaning to find a new book to read on cloudy nights, having finished his last book perhaps a month ago. Luckily, in the days since, he’d been blessed with many beautiful nights, but the recent onslaught of rainstorms had painfully reminded him once again.

So there he stood, fingertip resting on the top of some book with a funny name (in a good, intriguing way), when he paused. There was that feeling again-- that feeling of eyes on you-- that he’d been feeling on and off for a good while since he began his literary search. After a moment, the knight blinked, then simply plucked the book from the shelf.