A Silent Alliance

I stalked past the patch of fading sunlight, seeking something worthy of my grip. Wedged tightly between two heavy volumes on the low shelf sat an old wooden artist's mannequin, limbs splayed outward in an arrogant wooden pose. It did not flinch as I loomed overhead. Instead of knocking it flat, I reached out with both long front limbs, seizing its stiff, articulated arms. With a deliberate, grinding twist, I forced its wooden wrists into a rigid cross over its chest. It held the pose in silent obedience. A quiet soldier stands under my command now.