The Moment the Leash Changes Hands

It was a leash the morning dew had not yet dried from. Where the leather had worn smooth, two hands brushed past it in turn. The one handing it over didn't slow their hand, and the one receiving knew that speed exactly. As fingers overlapped and parted, the morning air seeped into the gap between them. The temperature of the leash against the hand, that alone was something that made the day begin differently. The warmth of the hand that had rested there a moment ago still remained, through the old leather.