And to his horror, he found nothing more than a pile of blank books. They were timeworn, yellowed and faded manuscripts with nothing written upon them, with no sign of ink ever having touched the pages. No, that was not true. Here and there were the blots of ink that fell from a quill, the stains of years accrued from aging. Every sign and aspect of having suffered the rigours of time littered their surfaces and interiors.