Shelter by the Clay

A rich, damp scent of turned earth led me into the dim corner of the room. Rising above the floor was a massive terracotta planter, its fired clay rough and pleasantly gritty against my shoulder. Above it, broad green fronds arched into the shadows, creating a canopy overhead. I lowered my head, nudging a brittle fallen leaf aside with the tip of my horn, and backed my heavy hindquarters firmly against the curve of the pot. With my back protected by solid clay and the earthy aroma settling around me, I tucked my legs underneath and let out a soft, steady rumble.