Willfur
"Oriens..." The name is quiet when he says it aloud, the mule finally lifting his nose from the thick sheet of vellum he's been studying, whiskers springing outward after long hours spent pressed against seams and cramped between pages. "Research and exploration, a little side of mediation. Knowledge, wisdom. Well, he certainly seems like the right patron, and this the right place for someone like me, hm?" He addresses a pair of small, foxlike creatures, the two of them curled together like a single entity and leaning against the stallion's broad side, sound asleep. He's run the poor things ragged with his insatiable appetite for books and scrolls, tomes and pamphlets, requesting where to find this and that, and they so eager to assist.
"You've been very helpful, little ones. Thank you." He only murmurs it, knowing they won't hear, but hoping the sentiment, at least, permeates their dreams as he gently extricates himself and steps away from the nook they've all been tucked into. A smile softens the curve of his mouth and puckers his upper lip as he glances back at them, crouching into a deep stretch and flapping his ears. "You've certainly earned a break, but I'm afraid I'm a restless sort, never to stay in one place for too long." He bends to gently ruffle the canids fur, exhaling warmth and gratitude as he pulls away. "Onward and inward."
Thus far he's spent all his time inside the library here, in the main foyer, roaming the countless stacks and shelves and aisles, but there are doors leading off of each exterior wall and he's seen the foxy helpers ducking in and out of them from time to time, so he's curious to see where those might lead, too. As far as he can tell, all the doors are exact replicas of each other - which are themselves just smaller, less intricate versions of the magnificent front entry - with no signage or markers of any kind to differentiate between them. They probably all serve a similar purpose then, meaning the choice of which door to open is of little consequence.
Based on that, he simply heads for the nearest door, ears held stiffly forward, listening for any warning of activity on the other side. He'd hate to bumble into someone carrying important documents or interrupt the helpers on their altruistic errands, but all he can hear are the soft, internal sounds of his own heart and lungs, big and exuberant as they are. Pressing one shoulder lightly against the timber, he swings the door open and peers inside.
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