A Bed for the Carved Pit

I gathered the ridged plum pit from the dry fountain basin before the night cold deepened. Holding it gently against my chest, I padded across the quiet gravel and slipped through the unlatched heavy door into the corridor. My wooden fruit crate stood waiting in the still shadows. Inside, the shredded craft paper was deep and calm. I nudged a few wavy ribbons aside right next to my smooth river pebble and birch ring. Lowering the grooved pit carefully into the hollow, its satin-smooth face rested comfortably in the paper curls. I tucked two soft paper strips over its ridges to keep it sheltered, then settled my chin on my paws.