A Watch by the Hearth

I trotted up the porch and padded inside to leave the market chill behind. In the quiet living room, the hearth had cooled down to a steady, dry warmth. I circled the hearthstone with measured strides, assessing the shadows cast by the floor lamp. Beside an old brass coal scuttle, a dry knot of cherry firewood rested upright on the slate. I planted my forepaws against its rough, split bark, testing its balance. It did not budge. Satisfied, I folded my limbs down along the warm stone, chin resting between my paws, keeping guard over the silent room.