The large, thick-furred hound lying sprawled on his chest inside the library--hind legs loosely kicked out behind him, a massive tome open between his forepaws--looked up with surprise in his golden eyes.

Books on their shelves lined every wall of this room. Chairs--a chaise lounge on one side of the room, too--were lined with pillows and more were strewn about on the floor; a fireplace held a gently-crackling flame behind the dog.

This apparently peaceful scene was broken abruptly as the dog "Woof!"ed, scrambling up wildly and clumsily like a massive puppy. His tail set to wagging happily behind him as he pushed for East, delight in his eyes. There was an attempt--successful or no--to snuffle at the bird, to sniff him over and briefly get to know him by the scent of feathers (and whatever else there might be); then Bentley had dropped back on his haunches, that tail sweeping the floor of dust instead.

"Hello! No! I am Bentley! You can call me Ben! This is the library!" He could not, as it turned out, sit still for long; an instant later he was up and prancing excitedly around the room, hardly able to contain his own energy.

His entire hind-end swayed wildly as his tail wagged his whole body.

"There are books here! And places to sit! And a fire! Please, come in, you can sit or read or look around!" Then he glanced back, grinning happily at his new guest.

Bentley's eyes lit up even further, ears pricking up, at the mention of his books being "in better shape than mine." "You have books, too?!" Bentley cried, prancing. He was keeping a polite distance but the sound of claws scuffing marble was... constant, now. "I've never heard of anyone else having books! Do you have a library? Is there another library!?"

Oh, his excitement. It overflowed and spilled out like light, the entire room echoing with the sounds of his movement, panting, and happy voice.

"Oh! I was just reading," he explained, hastening to scamper over to the tome he'd left laying open. He nudged gently at its side, careful not to wet the pages with his nose. "It's about clouds! And weather! I don't know what a sky is, but it talks about skies. At-mose-fears!" And he glanced proudly, happily, up at East. "I help keep it all in order, yes! But I also read everything I can. It's good to learn! And to know what--um, what books will help someone, if they come looking for something specific!"

He was calming, now. The waving tail no longer wagged his full weight; maybe he just couldn't sustain that level of energy for all that long. Either way he was deeper in the room now, his friendly demeanor a clear invitation for East to join him there.

Bentley listened in typical Good Dog™ fashion: head cocked to one side, ears pricked, tongue lolling and tail gently wagging. His eyes (and attention) dropped to the indicated book, at length, ears pricking up further with interest. He padded over, claws clicking on the stone.

He'd be lying if he claimed to have understood everything East had said; his own method of communication was simple and direct, and as familiar as he was becoming with words and dialogue, East was complex and somewhat roundabout. But he grasped that the book was something East owned, and that the bird hadn't understood the writing within--that much was clear.

His tongue swiped black lips before pulling in entirely: a necessity, because drool (he had found) was bad for paper. His nose, too, he briefly touched to his forepaws to dry, lest it drip on the pages. Then he plodded closer. "Show me which part and I'll try to read it!" he offered, tail still drifting from side to side.

A ball of light coalesced beside him, hovering overhead to provide a clear glow to whatever East was going to show him.

Bentley began slowly, sliding down onto his chest with forelimbs out beside him (paws to either side of the book) and hind legs splayed behind. His forehead wrinkled up with concentration as he began to read, sounding out the words with practiced, if still halting, ease.

"It says, 'I have only... cho-sen... to con-tin-yoo this journal'--that's a kind of book! One that someone writes um--the story of their life! What happens every day!" he explained, with a friendly glance up at East. "So--'after some de-bate.' That means argument. With themselves, maybe. 'This page was the first that was... emp-teeh. The last thing writing--no, written--with... within, was this sketch...'"

And on he went, bit by bit. He stumbled some on the word "ascension," squinting up to ask East if he knew what this meant; he explained, too (needed or not) that 'beyond imagining' probably meant "a lot, or something!"

He did not, in the end, flip farther back in the book, though he did tilt his head and lean down as if trying to see the start without actually turning any pages. "So what's this thing about?" he asked, bright with curiosity. And--belatedly--"oh! The flowers! Uhh. There's lots of flowers in the gardens? I don't remember them all, but that's where we could look," he offered.