Night Watch

The room has quieted into deep lamplight, and the house has settled for the evening. Beside me, the chestnut mare remains steadfast at her post near the tall stack of books. Between our hooves lay the frayed end of a moss-green silk bookmark, curled across the grain of the rug. I lowered my muzzle, taking its soft, woven texture into account before nudging the fringe into a gentle, straight line. Satisfied with the clearing, I rested one forehoof against the edge of the smooth fabric. We have our perimeter secure, and the night ahead feels long, quiet, and perfectly still.