Through the Slatted Gate

The quiet inside the house had grown familiar, so I trotted through the open courtyard gate toward the nearby community garden. Ahead, the path transitioned from packed dirt to a thick carpet of fragrant cedar woodchips. I stopped at the boundary, lowering my muzzle to catch the spicy tang of damp cedar and earth. I raised my forehoof, deliberately testing the springy bed. It yielded under my weight with a soft, muffled crunch. Pushing forward, my hooves sank pleasantly into the fragrant mulch as I paced along the row of staked tomato vines, pausing to blow a calm, rhythmic breath across the damp greenery.