Sanctuary of Smooth Stones

The descending night mist signaled that our garden campaign had concluded. Crossing the slate steps, my talons slipped through the parted patio door into the dry warmth of the rear entryway. Before us lay a low rubber boot tray filled with dark, polished river stones. My crests conferred in disciplined harmony: one urged pressing onward to the parlor carpet, while the others recognized an orderly bed of unyielding minerals. Advancing onto the rounded stones, I nestled my frame into the smooth hollows. My washer-armored claw locked securely across a cool black pebble as we folded our wings, claiming tranquil dominion over the quiet hearth.