Through the Slotted Grid

I shifted my weight off the wet brass key. Click. Deliberate steps carried me across the cold iron bars of the ground drain grating. Directly beneath my claws, a dark square aperture plunged downward into cool subterranean air. I lowered my stance, tilting my head down to gauge the vertical clearance between two rusted iron ribs. Tap. My foreleg met the damp, corroded wall of the channel. Solid footing confirmed. Methodical descent. I eased my body sideways through the narrow slot. The midday warmth vanished instantly, replaced by the faint echo of dripping water below. Position anchored in the dark iron ribbing. Click.