In the center of the scarcely-organized chaos, with narrow aisles radiating outwards towards the edges of the room, sat a lonesome but heavy wooden desk piled high with ledgers, attended by a tired-looking Rock mare of the guild of Stockers, Keepers and Clerks. The papers at her hooves mapped each piece of property here to their owners; her job was to ensure that nothing was removed or replaced without being recorded. And her job was also to direct her assistant, a young colt, who corralled and ordered the half-dozen Dustpony laborers responsible for the actual, physical work of storing and retrieving the objects brought or demanded by the customers of the storehouse. If the poor Rocks only knew what lurked not far above their heads, they would be shouting for the Stars. 