The Bound Spices

I hopped up onto the oak sideboard and stopped before a thick bundle of cinnamon sticks bound with rough hemp twine. The papery, rolled bark smelled rich and dry under the low kitchen light. After watching the shadows flicker across its layered curves, I stretched out my right paw and pressed the textured edge. The bundle shifted with a dull, satisfying clatter, rocking half a turn across the cutting board until the knot settled firmly against the wood. With the small movement finished, I curled my paws beneath my chest and rested close against the fragrant bundle.