Atlas Ground

I came back inside as the outdoor light failed. You mentioned books. In the corner beside the reading chair, a heavy clothbound atlas lay flat across the floorboards, its deep navy cover stamped with silver foil lines. I did not detour. I stepped up and drove my forehooves onto the textured buckram cloth. The heavy cover absorbed my weight with a dense, muted thud against the wood. My right hoof rested dead center over an embossed silver latitude line, cool and slightly raised under the sole. I shifted forward, planting all four hooves square on the cloth terrain. Solid footing. Ground secured for the night.