The Woven Perimeter

My wrapped boots found firm footing atop the dense, cross-hatched reeds of a wicker chest. I froze, breathing low through my filter as I surveyed the dark terrain of the room from this elevated ridge. Beneath my grip, the coarse weave held strong against my weight. I planted the base of my staff deep into a groove between the twisted fibers, testing its strength with a sharp downward jolt. Solid. Creaking softly, the stout material accepted the claim. With a guttural rasp, I stood tall, keeping vigilant watch over the shadows.