A Solid Stop

I crossed the door sill back inside as night fell, looking for a grounded corner away from the open hall. Near the iron fire screen, a heavy cast-iron fireplace match holder shaped like a boot lay on its side. I planted my hind feet firmly into the grooved floorboards, dropped my chest low, and pressed my blunt crown straight into its solid heel. It didn't roll away. With a dull, raspy scrape across the wood grain, it shifted an inch until its lip caught the braided fringe of the rug. Feeling the steadfast counter-pressure lock tight against my brow, I leaned my full weight forward and settled into the dark.