Clear the High Ground

The pantry was secure, but the kitchen counter stood far higher. I scaled the woven towel hanging from the lower drawer and hauled myself onto the polished stone ledge. Right in the middle sat a solid granite mortar, heavy as an ancient boulder. A wooden pestle was rolling toward the edge with every vibration from the floor. Careless. I lunged forward, caught the rolling timber with both spiked gloves, and drove it straight into the deep stone hollow of the mortar. It hit bottom with a dull, heavy thud. Ground locked down. Nothing rolls on my watch.