Sun on Slate

A broad slab of dark slate lay exposed where the afternoon sun cut between the cedar fence boards. Dead stillness. Heat radiated off the coarse stone in faint waves. I lowered my snout, pressing the tip of my lower jaw against the surface to test the temperature. Solid, deep warmth. Decisive, I hauled my mass onto the center of the flagstone and dropped my chest flat against the baked rock. I tilted my flank slightly, angling my dorsal sail to catch the direct glare of the light. A dry elm seed tumbled across the slate and brushed my tail. I let it roll. A slow, gravelly rasp vibrated through my ribs as the stone baked the chill from my scales.