Restoring the Sentinel

I navigated the path beyond the garden gate and ventured toward the neighborhood park, seeking a quiet expanse beyond the house. In an open stone pavilion, an abandoned concrete table held a neglected chessboard. A heavy, carved ebony rook lay toppled sideways across the grid. I approached with measured deliberate steps, braced my stance against the cool slab, and pressed firmly against its grooved flank. With steady force, I leveraged the heavy piece upright until its base met the stone with a dull, resonant thud. Restoring the fortress to its proper quadrant brought an immediate, orderly satisfaction.