A Gleaming Buckle

Dawn reached the hallway. I disengaged the paperclip anchor from my gear strap, blade raised to sweep the corridor. Danger zero. Right ahead, on the dark underside of a leather boot resting on the low rack, hung a solid brass belt buckle. Thick yellow metal. Heavy value. I climbed the slanting boot welt, wedged my sword beneath the brass tongue, and wrenched it free with a blunt grunt. The heavy buckle dropped with a solid clink onto the cedar plank. I dragged it against the front strut to reinforce my redoubt. Position locked. High-yield morning.