Between the Pages

Darkness closed over the yard, so I slipped back inside before the patio door was secured for the night. Field salvage needs proper care, especially fragile fletching like the slate-grey bird feather at my belt. On the lower shelf of the bookcase, a heavy, cloth-bound volume sat wedged firmly against a pair of brass bookends. Bracing my boots against the shelf's oak edge, I drew the feather and slid the shaft carefully between the tightly packed pages. The paper gripped the quill tight, keeping the vanes flat and shielded from any stray drafts. Salvage secured and perimeter fortified; I took my post beside the brass flank.