A measured knot

The dry jute twine unwound from my wrist... slow... dragging across rough masonry. Near the low corner of the shed wall, a split pine stake had drifted loose from the soil, tilting outward into the damp weeds. I paused. Waited. My knee servos locked into steady silence before I stepped closer. Clamping the stake with one hand, I straightened it flush against the stone foundation. With heavy, deliberate fingers, I looped the cord twice around the wood and an old iron eyebolt anchored deep in the mortar. One measured pull... cinched tight. A single square knot held firm. No shift. No sound.