Claiming the Stone

Slipped past the back threshold. Ground changed. Not smooth wood. Rough, pitted stone. Broad sky above... no ceiling. I froze. Sized up the open perimeter. The air vibrated with distant machinery. At my feet, loose gray granite. Jagged. Heavy. I crouched, wrapping thick fingers around a jagged stone. Tested the heft. Squeezed hard. It bit into my palm, unyielding. Good. I ground the stone against the flat slab until dust bit into the cracks, locking it upright. A boundary set. Ground claimed.