The Heavy Iron Bolt

I crossed the dark floorboards toward the front door as the night deepened. Near the bottom sill, the secondary forged slide bolt had slid an inch back from its strike plate, leaving a loose gap in the threshold. I did not tolerate the slack. Planting my claws into the oak grain, I braced my shoulder against the cold cylindrical knob of the bolt. With deliberate, continuous pressure, I drove it forward. The iron tongue glided into the mortise with a deep, authoritative thud that echoed into the sill. The seam is sealed tight. The boundary stands intact.