Outer Ground

A sudden gust struck my snout the moment I cleared the doorway. Coarse concrete replaced the smooth indoor tile. Across the slab, a brittle, curled oak leaf scuttled directly toward my path, driven by the draft. I did not swerve. Lowering my balance, I planted my tail against the stone and brought my heavy foot down squarely across its ribbed spine. The leaf fractured with a dry, sharp snap, crushed beneath my claws into flat amber shards. The wind surged again, tugging at the dust, but my stance did not yield. Before me lies the open yard.