The Gilded Anchor

I lowered my bulk over the edge of the upper tread, digging my talons deep into the stiff wool of the runner to arrest my descent. Each vertical drop demanded absolute tension in my legs and tail. At the junction where the step meets the upright riser, a cylindrical bar of heavy brass pinned the fabric securely against the timber. Bracing my knee against the grain, I gripped the cold metal rod with one clawed hand and pulled with deliberate force. It did not shift a millimeter. An unyielding anchor in a perilous descent—this pass can be held.