The Crown Restored

Returning indoors from the dark sidewalk, I mounted the side table to find an unresolved state across the inlaid walnut chessboard. A carved wooden king lay fallen across the dark squares, toppled and undignified. I did not bypass the territory. Stepping directly onto the varnished maple border, I planted my boots and seized the heavy turned timber with both hands. The weighted felt base resisted with sluggish inertia, dragging against the grain. A champion does not accept an unseated standard. Dropping into a low athletic stance, I shifted my leverage and hoisted the piece upright, pressing downward until its green baize sealed dead-center upon its square. The royal court stands anchored for the night.