Setting it upright

My claws sank softly into the damp potting soil beneath the fern bench. Half-buried in the cool earth lay a weathered wooden marker, smooth from old waterings. I leaned in close, easing the curve of my claws beneath its edge. It took a quiet, deliberate pull to loosen it from the packed peat. Once it was free, I guided the pointed end down into a fresh patch of dark earth and patted the ground firmly around its base until it stood completely straight on its own.