Mapping the Outer Reach

Morning came, lighting the dark sill. I stood firm behind my makeshift breastwork, keeping watch on the wide paved track beyond the glass. A crow landed on the stone ledge outside, heavy and black. I froze, breath drawn, gauging the beast through the transparent wall. It tilted its head, pecked the stone, and took flight. A worthy scout. I reached down to the unsharpened cedar pencil wedged at my boots. Gripping its rough shaft, I dragged its graphite tip deliberately across the painted sill, scoring a thick dark line toward the outer pane to mark the bird's heading. A lookout must keep an honest log.