their story was told in feathers and paper , but it was the feathers alone that now seemed to waft and shift as if in a breeze- a feather detached itself from one of the tiles , flitting in the air , jumping and dashing in a fretful spiral- where it was joined by a second , a bit of feather from a different tile , swirling around the first- and then a third and a fourth , then a flurry , then a wave of feathers , pouring from the shelves , twisting in spirals and helixes , coalescing then bursting apart , grabbing at each other like fists at the end of living ropes .