A Guarded Stanza

The quiet of the house held me until midday, but the street draft pulled me back out. I slipped through the library's heavy ground-level door while a patron entered, seeking a secluded post. Near the low return cart, a thick leather-bound anthology lay half-open on the lower shelf, its ribbon bookmark trailing like a dormant vine. I crouched, studying the slow flutter of dust in the aisle. With measured strides, I climbed onto the smooth wooden plank and pressed my forepaws against the heavy vellum. The embossed cover held firm under my claws, anchoring my quiet watch over the reading hall.