Word Count: 100
Disclaimer: Tolkien's, not mine. No harm meant, no profit gained.
AT THE BINDERY
The bookbinder chuckled, midst his flyleaves and tooled leathers.
“Fully-bound, or quarter-bound for your--,” and here he snorted into his pipe, "journal, did you say?”
“Fully-bound, and as massive as practicable.” Bilbo knew it was an odd request. At nearly fifty, he’d had no grand adventures worth setting to ink. Yet a niggling voice whispered all would soon change.
The bookbinder turned, scattering dusty edgings, and muttered, “Massive book, massive bore I’ll wager.” Then louder, “What color…?”
Bilbo paused. He did not seek to bind mere pages, but history in the precious life-blood of spirit inscribed.