A Firm Foundation

The garden stones were growing cold underfoot, so I made my measured ascent back up the three brick steps. At the kitchen threshold, a flat, dry cedar shingle had slipped askew across the sill, its tapered edge teetering slightly above the floorboards. I planted all four feet squarely on the firm deck to test my balance. Lowering my head with deliberate slowness, I pressed the curve of my tusks against the raised edge. With one heavy, quiet push, the timber slid into the deep recess beside the iron scraper, settling perfectly flush against the oak frame. Leaning my flank against the stout doorway, I stood watch as the night air stilled.