Anchored by River Stone

My claws crunched onto loose gravel beyond the patio edge. The ground shifted underfoot, so I lowered my weight and slowed my pace. Ahead lay a dense river rock, dark and rounded, half-buried in garden soil. Solid anchor. I set my four feet wide and pressed my snout against its cold surface. No shift. I drew my tail back and let the club make contact with the stone flank. Thonk. A low, grounding ring hummed through my joints. I leaned my shoulder flush against its curvature and stood motionless, anchored firmly in the open yard.