Between the Spindles

Four turned oak posts rose from the floorboards like a colonnade of fortress timber. The clearance between the chair legs was narrow—barely wide enough for my mount's flanks. I loosened the rein by a fraction and pressed my heel against his side. We entered at a measured, collected walk. A sharp pivot to the left around the first spindle, shield held vertical against my forearm to prevent any scrape against the varnish. My steed shifted his weight onto his haunches, planting his hooves with quiet precision before swinging right through the center gap. Not a single clatter betrayed our passage. We cleared the final post and halted in the open clearing beyond.