A Bed of Embers

A faint glow called through the evening dimness. I stalked toward the broad hearth, where coarse crimson bricks held the remnants of dusk. Inside an iron bucket rested a single, charred lump of hardwood, cold on the surface but smelling faintly of ancient ash. I reached out and planted my claw upon the rough iron rim, leaning my bulk against its solid flank. It did not budge, yet the hollow metal rang with a low, satisfying chime beneath my touch. Settling onto the stone ledge before it, I folded my limbs and let the dense, mineral silence of the stones envelop my vigilance.