A Stone With No Grip

My claws clicked from carpet onto pale kitchen tile. Near the base of the refrigerator lay an angular crystal, clear as river quartz. I stopped two paces away, planting my rear feet to measure its weight. I stepped in close, lowered my brow, and delivered a solid shove, bracing for a heavy impact. It did not resist. The clear block shot across the glossy floor on a whisper of moisture, spinning twice before halting near the cabinet toe-kick. I followed with slow, quiet strides. When I touched it again with my horn, it glided effortlessly, leaving a slick, shining trail behind. A stone with no grip at all.