In the northern reaches of Brackenfell, where mighty warriors settled arguments with their fists and considered a broken nose a perfectly acceptable greeting, there lived a barbarian named Grond. He was a mountain of a man, with enormous arms, a thick beard, and a skull that had survived more blows than anyone cared to count. He was also, according to his clan's shaman, the single greatest idiot ever to lift an axe.

This particular assessment had been made after Grond accidentally ate a poisonous mushroom and spent three days arguing with a tree. Unfortunately, several other warriors had eaten the same mushrooms, and the shaman needed a particular book to identify a cure. Since Grond had eaten the most and somehow survived, the shaman decided he was responsible for retrieving it from the Great Library of Willowmere.

Grond hated the idea immediately. He had fought trolls, wrestled bears, and marched through blizzards without complaint, but a library was unfamiliar territory. Nevertheless, the shaman threatened to confiscate his favorite drinking horn, so Grond set off with his axe, a sack of provisions, and a scrap of parchment bearing the book's title.

Three days later, Grond arrived at a grand stone building with tall windows and beautifully carved wooden doors. He examined the entrance suspiciously before pushing his way inside, his heavy boots thudding against the polished floor. "HELLO!" he bellowed, causing several people to jump and one elderly gentleman to drop his spectacles.

"Shhhhh!" hissed a dozen voices from various corners of the building. Grond stopped, looking around for whoever had made the strange noise. "WHO GOES THERE?" he demanded, placing a hand on his axe.

"Young man!" A stern voice came from behind a nearby desk, where a small elderly woman was watching him over her spectacles. "This is a library, and I will thank you to lower your voice." Grond looked down at her, blinking in confusion.

"GROND NEEDS BOOK!" he announced, slapping the parchment onto her desk. The woman closed her eyes briefly, took a slow breath, and examined the writing. "Natural Sciences, third floor, aisle seventeen, shelf six," she replied, pointing toward the staircase.

Grond nodded firmly and marched toward the stairs, only to be stopped by another sharp command. "Your axe, young man. Weapons are not permitted in the library." He stared at her for a moment before reluctantly surrendering his enormous weapon, which she placed beneath the desk.

The stairs creaked alarmingly beneath Grond's weight, but they held long enough for him to reach the third floor. Here, the library became considerably less welcoming, with narrow aisles between towering shelves crammed with books. Grond approached the first passage, turned sideways, and attempted to squeeze through.

His left shoulder struck one shelf while his right elbow caught the other. Several books tumbled onto the floor, and Grond immediately tried to catch them, only succeeding in knocking another three loose. "BAH!" he roared, ducking as a particularly heavy volume struck his head.

"SHHHHH!" came the furious response from downstairs. Grond scowled at the ceiling, rubbed his head, and tried again. Unfortunately, his enormous bearskin cloak caught on a shelf bracket, and when he pulled forward, an entire row of books followed him.

"STUPID LITTLE CAVE!" Grond thundered, trying to turn around. His shoulder struck another shelf, which swayed dangerously before he grabbed it with both hands. He stood there, trapped between the shelves, desperately trying to work out how to move without causing further destruction.

"Excuse me, sir?" came a small voice behind him. Grond turned his head as far as his neck would permit and discovered a young library assistant standing at the end of the aisle. "Would you mind stepping backward very carefully?" she asked, surveying the scattered books.

"GROND CANNOT MOVE!" he complained, attempting to demonstrate and immediately causing another book to fall. The assistant winced, then approached and carefully unhooked his cloak from the bracket. "There," she said, stepping aside. "Now, if you turn your shoulders a little and take small steps, you should manage."

Grond obeyed, inching backward with an expression of intense concentration. Once free, he straightened to his full height and gave the girl an approving nod. "SMALL BOOK WARRIOR IS CLEVER!" he declared, earning another furious shushing from below.

The assistant examined his parchment and led him to the correct section, where she retrieved a thick green volume from the sixth shelf. Grond accepted it gingerly, turning it over in his hands and staring at the illustrations of mushrooms on its cover. "THIS BOOK SAVES CLAN?" he asked, noticeably quieter this time.

"It might," she replied, smiling. "But you'll need to read it first." Grond's expression changed immediately, and for several seconds he stood perfectly still.

Finally, he looked at the assistant and cleared his throat. "SMALL BOOK WARRIOR," he whispered, leaning down conspiratorially. "GROND HAS ONE MORE QUESTION."

"Yes?"

Grond glanced around to make certain nobody else was listening before delivering his terrible confession. "GROND CANNOT READ."

The assistant looked at the enormous barbarian, then at the book, and finally toward the staircase. Downstairs, the elderly librarian was already reaching beneath her desk for a fresh borrowing card. Somehow, she suspected Grond would be staying considerably longer than expected.