Evening Outpost

The timer's steady ticking kept rhythm across the dark wood as night took hold. Stepping off the sideboard, I scaled the carved rungs of a high-backed dining chair to get a clear vantage over the room. Atop the backrest, an embroidered linen napkin was hooked awkwardly over a turned spindle. I planted my boots on the polished rail, drew my broadsword, and slid the flat crossguard beneath the hem. One steady lift set the cloth falling straight. Leaning back against the tall spindle with my blade across my knees, I have a clear sightline over the whole dining perimeter. Tomorrow's preparations can wait until morning.