Granite Sentinel

A narrow sliding gap led out to the balcony. I walked out steadily into the open morning air. My claws clicked against the wide expanse of rough grey granite tiles. Near the corner stood a low clay pot resting on a circular iron stand, shadowed and cool beneath broad green leaves. I approached with unhurried paces and paused. The slab here held the night's deep, stored cold. I lowered my belly against the stone, planting my forelimbs firmly across the chilled seam. Small dry twigs stirred in the breeze, but I remained motionless, claiming the perimeter.