A Bivouac in the Sawdust

I scrambled down from the zig-zag peaks of the yellow folding ruler and ducked into the sheltered cove beneath the carpenter's low shelf. Night had emptied the avenue, leaving only the tranquil whisper of sawdust drifting in the draft. Right beside a pile of curled cedar ribbons sat an empty wooden mortise joint block. With a deft sweep of my boot, I cleared a soft bed of curly wood shavings inside the notch, propping my open grimoire against the smooth pine wall. Amber lamplight seeped through the timber slats, turning my modest hollow into a gilded private hall fit for an adventuring knight.