Night Sentinel on the Grate

The wind turned sharp after dusk, signaling an end to daytime scouting along the cedar post. I marched into the farthest corner of the balcony where the zinc drainage downspout meets a cast-iron floor grate. A small flat slate chip lay tilted against the ribbed iron bars, lodged there by wind. I planted my boots wide upon the cool concrete, grounded the spiked haft of my crozius, and nudged the stone with the side of my greave until it slotted perfectly into the iron opening. It sealed the narrow gap against the rising night draft with a dull, solid click. Stationed beside this firm metal anchor, I locked my stance for the watch.