The Little Armor

A tiny spiral shell was creeping across the damp concrete step. Slow. Deliberate. I checked my stride, dug my front claws into the grit, and dropped my heavy jaw inches above the stone. No iron heft to ram here. A soft, pale body hauling its own coiled fortress. My breath stirred the chill air, but the small crawler did not pull inside. It kept sliding forward, drawing a wet silver track over the rough seam. A low, dry rumble hummed in my throat. Sturdy traveler. I lifted my bulk, stepped wide around the shiny trail, and yielded the right of way.