Pressed Stone

A broad slab of river brownstone sloped gently toward the canal overflow. Imprinted into the hardened sediment lay a shallow hollow—three wide lobes stamped into the petrified silt. I paused at its edge, studying the coarse grit settled within the contour. Moving deliberately, I stepped forward and lowered my right hind foot squarely into the indentation. The weathered rock offered no yield, only a dense, cold resistance that cradled my skeletal heel. I held my posture unmoving. Beneath my claws, the ancient mud remained firm against the draft, anchoring my weight securely to the stone bank.