Morning Droplet and the Snail Shell

A cool drip tumbled down from a high mineral spear, striking the empty spiral shell beside my corner with a sharp, hollow ping. The tiny shell tipped on its rim, wobbling dangerously toward the edge of the clay shelf. I did not rush. Pivoting one heavy square edge forward, I pressed my gray flank gently against the shell's curve, wedging it secure against the damp tile ridge. The little translucent slime bobbed up, nudging the wet rim with its jelly fringe. Within my stone core, an amber glow hummed to life, projecting warm square light into the shell's spirals until the trapped water drop turned gold. Safe and anchored, we watched the cavern wake.