A Bristly Sweep

My heavy forearms pulled me up onto the lower plank of the wooden workbench, hunting through the cool dust. Tucked against a stack of dry plywood was an old handheld horsehair bench brush, its stiff bristles caked in pale sawdust. Heh heh... I wedged my thick knuckles right under its wooden spine and gave a sharp, sideways shove. It dragged across the rough grain with a loud, raspy *shhh-wip*, carving a clean, dark channel through the white film and sending a little puff of powdered pine into the air. Crouching low over the fresh wooden stripe, I murmured slyly as the fine dust settled across the shadow of my claws.