A Wayward Stride

Three full days within these timber quarters have run their course, and my boots demand the wide avenues once more. Approaching the threshold to begin my march into the city, I found the exit barred by a colossal tan work boot lying flat on its side across the hall runner. A fallen colossus shall not hinder my departure. Grounding the haft of my war hammer into the dense wool of the mat, I planted my greaves wide against the floor molding. I set my shoulder squarely against the thick tread of the lugged rubber sole and heaved forward with unbroken resolve. With a heavy, muffled thud, the leather titan rolled upright onto its heel, clearing the timber pathway for my journey.