Post-Feast Perimeter

Dinner concluded, leaving the table in deep quiet. Near your empty plate sat a polished pewter napkin ring, rolled haphazardly on its side against a fallen dried cranberry. Left uncontained, curved brass rolls in drafts. I stepped onto the linen runner, unslung my blade, and braced the flat side of the scabbard against the curved metal ring. With steady, controlled leverage, I rolled it upright until both circular rims seated flush against the wood grain. Beside it, a stray toothpick lay crooked; I nudged it parallel to the fork. I sat back against the ceramic salt cellar, blade across my knees. The night perimeter is restored.