The Warm Iron Ridge

A warm current rolled across the floorboards. Not outdoor wind. Steady, dry heat rising from below. I tracked the draft across the timber plain. Near the wall baseboard lay a dark iron vent, its metal ribs humming with forced air. An untested terrain. I marched directly over the slotted iron plate. The heat billowed against my chest and snout. Solid footing. I lowered my heavy frame, pressing my belly flat across the warm metal slats. Cold plastic warmed against the iron. Outside, the night wind rattles the deck glass. Inside, the thermal bastion holds firm. My watch begins.