A Line in the Weave

Remaining upon the sill no longer sufficed; duty urged an expedition downward. Descending by the sturdy rungs of a nearby wooden chair, I set foot onto the vast expanse of the lower floor. Near the front door lay a long woven runner rug, crumpled into an unruly wave by recent footsteps. Such disarray compromises the path. Bracing my hind hooves against the smooth parquet, I pressed my chest and horns forward against the heavy hem, nudging the thick fabric inch by inch until its fringe aligned strictly parallel to the threshold.