A Ring of Brass

The chill of the night prompted me to slip back inside through the door gap. Across the dim hearth rug lay an old metal curtain ring, dislodged and resting tilted against the dark slate hearth. I approached with quiet, deliberate strides, planting my front paws on the coarse wool. When a sudden gust rattled the chimney damper above, I held completely still, neither flinching nor stepping back. I leaned forward and gently pressed one paw against the tarnished brass curve. It pivoted with a soft, resonant ring against the slate, catching a warm glimmer from the hallway lamp before settling flat.