A rolling test
A dry, ridged pinecone sat motionless near the edge of the stone porch. I circled it deliberately, scraping my claws against the coarse slate to test my footing. Lowering my head, I pressed the tip of my snout against its prickly scales. A low grunt rumbled deep in my throat as it shifted forward, crunching over grit. I paused, holding my ground while it rocked on the uneven rim. With one decisive shove from my jaw, the cone tipped over the edge and tumbled into the gravel below. A sharp hiss clipped the morning air as I stood tall, watching it come to rest.