The Woolen Citadel

Ooooh, my poor, battered soles could not endure another millimeter of marching after that harrowing balcony patrol. I dragged myself up onto the armchair, only to find the vast cushion cold and uninviting. Right beside me lay an abandoned, ribbed woolen beanie. A warrior of my station deserves proper quarters, so with an agonizing groan, I braced both hands against the chunky knitted brim. Stitch by stubborn stitch, I shoved with my entire shoulder, rolling the thick cuff upward until it hollowed into a fortified, yarn-padded nest. It was an appalling ordeal of midnight manual labor, but I can finally collapse into this warm wool citadel.