A Duel of Shells

Morning dew coats the mulch. Leaving the solar bivouac, I advanced along the mossy edge of the garden brick border. A garden snail crested a fallen twig directly across my intended route. It did not retreat into its calcified bastion. A worthy posture. I dropped into a balanced warrior's crouch, resting one clawed hand against the damp earth. Slowly, I extended the dull back edge of my wrist gauntlet, holding it stationary across the path. The creature paused, swept its eye-stalks across the lacquered metal, and altered its course around my guard with steady dignity. An honorable adversary.