A Notch on the Rail

A fallen timber rail sat propped at a slant against the ditch bank, its top end resting high on a dry boulder. I climbed up with slow, measured clicks of my hooves, testing each weathered ridge until the wood stopped flexing. Halfway along the grain, an iron rail-spike projected straight upward, its head square and notched by an old chisel blow. I stretched my neck forward and guided my blue horn against the metal edge. With a quiet rasp, it settled flush into the groove. Leaning my full weight against the iron, I held my footing, watching the field open out quiet and steady below.