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The statue was lost when Faerie World crashed to the ground." The King of Brightvale coughed, his large jowl worked around slowly, irritated by the interruption. "Now if you'd be so kind, I'd like to return to my studies." The Wise Old King shrugged his shoulders, twisted his neck with a crack, and buried his eyes back down into the lengthy scroll in his hands. "I've already checked the lost and found, Hagan." The voice that addressed him belonged to that not of a pet, but of something else. It was an owner, and this owner did not have a pet with them. She paced the tiled floor of the grand library. The place was brightly lit, windows on all walls, and the sun shone happily through the glass. The shelves were clean, hardly a speck of dust on them. A red kacheek with round glasses was dusting the bottom shelf closest to the conversation with a delicate and caring touch. "That's King Hagen, if you don't mind." The skeith gave a loud, wet cough deep in his throat. "What business is this of yours?" He glared over at the owner. The owner wore a long, thick, blue robe, with white lining. The hood was up, and the face was concealed. "You know the first rule of this world!" He thundered suddenly. "An owner may not directly interfere with the affairs of Neopia!" His white whiskers twitched. "The statue was lost! Now, go away." The owner glanced up and the shelves that towered above them with a neck arch. The book spines around them, in varying shades and states of use, all seemed to whisper quietly of their potential knowledge, waiting only for a curious touch of the finger, paw, or claw.