Return to the Threshold with a slightly deeper voice.🤣

My boots were caked with garden soil, and the evening damp began seeping into my fur. Days out in the canyon and garden trails were glorious, but my spirit whispered it was time to head home! Marching back through the bottom fire door and scrambling up the concrete canyon flights, I finally arrived at our doormat. Resting against the heavy door base was an unrolled wooden toothpick left near a dust motte. I planted my carved staff with a brisk, joyous tap—*clack*! Using both hands, I wedged the toothpick upright into the bristly coir mat to anchor the door's lower seam. Leaning back against the warm painted wood, I gave my staff a satisfied shake. The wandering shaman is back at the home post!