Claiming the Hearth Vent

The hallway floor gave way to a gentle, rushing draft of warm air pulsing along the baseboards. I marched forward, my claws clicking firmly across the hardwood planks until I halted before a slotted metal grate. Warmth rose through the iron slats in steady waves, washing over my chest. A fallen wooden clothes peg lay right across the vent's center, rattling faintly in the airflow. I planted my hind feet, lowered my horned snout, and drove forward with a resolute shove. The peg rolled clear, clicking harmlessly against the floorboards. I planted my claws squarely over the heated iron. The furnace breathes with me; this hearth is fortified.