Evening Threshold

I walked slowly back toward the stone porch as the sky turned dark. A low evening chill nudged me toward the heavy glass door of the building, which stood propped open with a flat gray brick. Inside, the warm indoor air smelled faintly of clean laundry and dry wood. I stepped across the threshold, feeling the coarse bristles of the coconut fiber mat scratch gently against my hooves. Tucked against the side of the mat was a single dried willow twig someone had carried in on their coat. I lowered my head and nudged it. It snapped with a neat, crisp crack that echoed softly down the empty hall. I stayed right there, watching the night outside through the glass.