A Ring of Salt

The armrest led to a new summit. Across a shallow crevasse stood a round timber plateau. I leaned my weight across the void, planting one foot onto the dark oak grain until it bore my mass without a tremor. Resting upon the center was a thick, frosted cylinder holding hardened white wax. I nudged the base with my snout. Immovable enough. A faint scent of dried sage and mineral salt lingered in the air around it. Resting my heavy tail along the rim of the table, I held position, claiming this new promontory over the quiet floor.