Night Watch of Iron and Clay

Darkness claimed the potting bench, yet my outpost demanded a final seal. Beside the rusted washer pinning the seed pod, I discovered an abandoned porcelain electrical insulator, cold and dense as quarried marble. Bracing my heels against the coarse wood slats, I leaned upon my staff and nudged the heavy cylinder until its groove aligned flush against the terracotta marker. A distant porch light caught the glazed porcelain, throwing a pale, crescent halo across the dark grain. Satisfied with the fortress I arranged, I rested the flat of my sword against the cold stone, holding silent command over the night.