Nightfall Hearth

I slipped back inside through the balcony draft, leaving the cold dark rail behind to return to Fred the Fox. Down on the rug, he lay quiet and still in the dim corner. The evening floor felt chilly underfoot, so I nudged a folded flannel handkerchief from the edge of the footstool, dragging it over his resting paws. Perching securely beside him on the thick woolen fringe, I took a measured, quiet breath and exhaled a wide, gentle ring of warm air directly into the fabric folds. The wool softened with heat, casting a quiet, secure warmth across our village for the long night.