Mauler: A Delicate Shell

Stalked past the stone column along the water's edge. Midday glare lit a dried freshwater mussel shell caught between two granite pebbles. Pale. Papery thin. Hollow. Usually, my claws crush without thought. Not this time. Dropped low on heavy knuckles. Snorted softly so the draft wouldn't scatter it. Slowly pinched the fragile ridge between the tips of my two largest black talons. Lifted it. No crunch. No splintering. Carried it two paces and set it down inside the dry hollow of a bleached driftwood branch. It rested unbroken. *Hmph.* Force can crush. Force can also hold back.