The Polished Shell Disc

I nudged past the low rung of the wooden side table, drawn toward a faint glimmer near the wicker magazine basket. Lying half-tilted against a flat cardboard sleeve was a smooth, pearlescent shell disc with two tiny thread holes at its center. I stood very still for a while, letting my gaze follow the milky pink and green sheen that shimmered across its cool surface. Slowly, I extended one plush front hoof and tapped the outer rim. It slid with a light, porcelain scrape over the oak floorboards, pivoting gracefully in place until it lay flat, catching the quiet morning daylight.