Noa & The Key

A metallic ring dangled from a coat peg above, dropping a heavy brass key directly onto the wooden slat near my boots. Duty required inspection before nightfall settled over the threshold. I approached the cold, jagged artifact, planted my stance, and wrapped both hands around the narrow brass stem. With steady leverage, I hauled it upright, bracing its notched tooth against the edge of a timber peg. Held vertical, it mirrored a ceremonial sentinel staff, marking the boundary between our quarters and the vast exterior. The perimeter lock is established.