Mapping the Shelf

A dark upright spine caught my eye beneath the lower shelf. I halted. Stood motionless for three long breaths, scanning the gap for sudden drops. Clear. I advanced, boots heavy against the floorboards, and reached for a folded parchment map wedged beside a row of thick books. My knuckles gripped the stiff paper corner. Stubborn dust coated the crease, but I refused to let go. With a harsh heave, I dragged it an inch into the light. Coastal charts. Creased, thick paper. A proper territory worth holding.