The Fallen Rook

A carved wooden rook lay toppled upon the dense weave of the hearth rug. Padded inside from the patio, I halted two paces back, letting the familiar evening hum settle around me. Nothing stirred. Stepping forward with measured weight, I nudged the timber base with the bridge of my snout. It wobbled against the thick wool fibers before righting itself with a muffled thud. Extending one paw, I pressed down against the notched parapet, testing the deep chisel cuts along its grain. It held firm against the pile. Satisfied with its balance, I folded my limbs beside it to share the quiet.