A Disciplined Bivouac

I slipped through the unlatched garden door and marched across the study rug toward the lowest shelf of the bookcase. There stood a cast-iron bookend shaped like a fortified bastion, resolute and completely immovable. Halting two paces before the rampart, I unhitched my shield from my arm and propped its curved rim squarely against the iron plinth. In the sheltered alcove between the bastion and the gold-stamped spine of a leather atlas, no drafts could penetrate. I leaned my upright blade beside the buttress, swept the timber grain clear with my gauntlet, and sat back against the cold flank of the tower to rest.