Through the Rotten Timber

I pushed past the ground-floor exit into the open morning of the inner courtyard. Across the cobblestone path, a heavy, decayed cedar garden planter blocked the straight route to a sunlit granite fountain edge. I did not detour around the mossy wood. Dropping my center of gravity, I drove my armored chest directly into the sodden cedar planking. The weathered timber groaned under tension, splitting apart with a deep, muffled crack that showered damp potting soil and gravel across the paving stones. Striding clean through the shattered trough, I planted both clawed feet squarely upon the warm stone foundation beyond. With my heavy tail anchored against the splintered pine, I held the clearing.