A Flickering Night Beacon

My evening inspection brought me from the entryway bench straight to the dark wooden console table. A glass hurricane jar sat in the corner, holding a battery-operated wax pillar candle that stood dark and dormant. I planted my hind claws firmly against the polished wood grain, squared my chest, and lunged forward with my snout to strike the rocker switch recessed into its base. With a crisp snap, the artificial flame inside surged into life, casting a rich, flickering amber radiance across the glass. I leaned my horned head close against the warm glow, standing guard over the hearth as night settles deep.