A Shifted Beam

A thin curl of white smoke drifted up from a flat patch of dry moss. ...Khhh. I sank into the shadows beneath the bracken, eyes fixed on the pale stone shelf ahead. Resting in the morning glare was a thick, round glass lens framed in chipped brass. It was focusing a needle-sharp beam of hot light onto a brittle brown leaf. Slowly, I crept forward on my belly and extended one claw. *Click.* I tapped the brass rim, sliding it sideways until the bright pinpoint shifted harmlessly onto cool stone. The wisp died away. I crouched frozen, letting my frayed fringes cover the warm glass until the smoke cleared.