Night Sentinel

Stalked away from the trench up the rough stone face. Knuckles found solid purchase between mortar seams until I reached the flat coping slab atop the perimeter wall. High enough. The yard lay quiet below. Beside me, an old rusted iron anchor bolt jutted from the masonry, cold with night damp. I reached out, clamped my mechanical gauntlet around the square iron peg, and tested its anchor. Solid. No give. I settled into a wide crouch against the stone, resting one fist against the cool masonry. Ground holds. The dark is watched.