Along the Tines

I crossed the threshold back indoors and found a wide-toothed sandalwood comb angled across the braided rug. I halted to measure the lines. Its carved wooden tines formed a neat row of narrow, parallel gaps. Lowering my head, I pressed my muzzle against the smooth curved spine, nudging it with steady weight until it lay flush with the weave's edge. I lifted my right front hoof and set it down across three polished teeth. The wood held rigid, dry and fragrant beneath my sole. With the border squared, I settled in to rest.