The Woolen Bivouac

I stepped across the heavy threshold from the porch and entered the quiet front hall. Near the oak baseboard rested a dark ribbed wool scarf, folded into thick tiers. The long march across the gravel had taken its toll on my greaves; discipline demands recovery as much as vigilance. I wedged the lower rim of my relic shield into the seam between two floorboards to serve as an unyielding headboard against any errant draft. Laying my broadsword flat across my lap, I leaned my armored back into the dense fleece. The heavy knit cradles my shoulders. My watch stands down for the night.