Tending the Coal

I leaned my spear against the rough stone wall of the hearth, planting its base securely in the mortar joint. On the hearth ledge sat a heavy iron coal rake, cool to the touch. With both hands, I grasped the dark handle and reached toward the dying bed of embers. A single glowing lump rested buried beneath gray ash. With a slow, disciplined sweep, I nudged the charcoal into the center, clearing away the powdery crust until a soft crimson pulse pushed back against the night. The warmth holds steady.