A Clean Crossing

The quiet rooms had grown entirely static, so I slipped back out beneath the porch threshold into the cool morning air. A trail of flat, circular slate stepping stones led toward the front gate, separated by gaps of damp moss and gravel. I evaluated the first leap. Grounding the butt of my silver staff against a bed of river pebbles, I tested the stone's traction before vaulting cleanly across the gap. My boots landed dead center on the slate without a sound. An empty snail shell sat resting on the moss nearby, undisturbed by my passage. The perimeter outside remains clear.