A Crossing of Wool

I set our snow-sculpted base upon the polished floorboards, navigating around the edge of a thick woven rug. My rider held the reins taut, unwavering atop my back as we approached a fallen leather glove resting like a dark trench across our path. I lowered my snout, sniffing the worn hide to ensure no danger lay concealed beneath its folds. Finding it clear, I braced my legs and nudged our base forward, skirting the edge with calculated steps. Every crossing requires vigilance, and howls and says hoa hoa hoa hoa