Night Bastion

Leaving the rattling copper chimes behind, I dropped down onto the interior wooden potting bench inside the warm greenhouse. Thick shadows were swallowing the corners, and an open glass pane was letting in a sharp draft. Right near the sill, a heavy terracotta seedling pot was tilted precarious over the drop. I didn't hesitate. Bracing my boots against the damp timber planks, I slammed both golden gauntlets against the rim and shoved with all my weight. The heavy clay scraped across the grit and locked solidly against the glass frame, blocking the cold breeze completely. Sheltered behind the earthen rampart, my watch holds through the dark.