A Ring of Blackened Iron

Dusk brought a sharp drop in warmth, directing my boots away from the soil of the planter toward the outer corner of the parapet. Propped low against the wall rested a heavy square storm lantern of blackened iron. Near its brass base hinge, a thick fallen iron washer lay flat on the gritty concrete. I grounded the spiked butt of my crozius into the stone and knelt low. Clamping my gauntlet around the cold disc, I lifted it against the lantern's foot. It struck the iron strut with a dead, resonant chime, bearing honest weight. Wedging it upright into the seam, I reinforced my station for the night watch.