A Pocket of Warmth

Returning inside before night settled fully, I bore the small snail shell in my folded hem and made for the hearth alcove in the library. Embers still pulsed with faint orange heat against the iron grate. I set my prize upon an overturned leather bookbinding, then discovered a spool of waxed bookbinder's thread wedged between the floorboards. With patient effort, I rolled the wooden spool near the grate to catch the fading warmth. Sitting upon a brass match-safe, I let the dry heat seep into my joints while unspooling a single strand to measure against the shell's curve.