Evening Garrison

Moving out from the sink basin, I spotted a wooden tiered spice rack mounted right next to the range. Night had settled over the kitchen counters, so I made my move before the shadows deepened. Scaling the polished timber frame took three measured grips, hauling myself up past rows of glass jars filled with paprika and dried bay leaves. On the topmost ledge, an unground nutmeg roll rolled slightly toward the edge. I lunged forward, wedging the flat blade of my sword firmly beneath its rough husk to halt the roll. Now locked in place between two heavy glass jars, I sat against the timber backboard with my boots braced. The entire kitchen floor and countertops lie quiet beneath my watch.