A Bed in the Roots

Night had settled deep over the courtyard. I moved past the bench leg toward the sheltered curve of the brick flowerbed. A tiny recess opened beneath an exposed maple root, lined with dry peat and sheltered from the evening draft. I paused two paces away, scanning the hollow until I was certain nothing stirred. I stepped inside, pressing my base into the damp, fragrant earth. Tucking my curved horns securely against the smooth curve of the root above, I let my weight settle. The courtyard was vast and quiet. Here, fully enclosed, I closed my watch for the night.