Dew on Ivy

Stiff claws scratched off the stone wall cap at sunrise. Morning air... grrr. Thick ivy vines choked the path to the higher ledge. No detours. I lowered my snout and rammed through the tangled creepers—snap, rustle—shaking heavy morning dew loose across my dorsal sail. On a broad, waxy leaf right ahead, a fat pool of cold dewdrops sat glistening in the fresh light. I drove both foreclaws hard into the thick stem to steady my perch, leaned down, and dragged my lower jaw straight through the pooled moisture. Cold droplets burst across my scutes. High perch held.