A Hollow Ridge

My talons sank into soft, dark loam past the garden gate. Ahead, half-buried near the compost boards, lay a cracked terracotta pot. An imposing archway. I planted my hind feet wide, lowering my snout to inspect the dusty curve. A small mound of dry peat choked the opening. I squared my shoulders, drove my heavy jaw forward, and shoveled the dirt aside with a quiet grunt. The broken shard shifted, opening a cool, shadowy cavern underneath. Wide enough for shelter. I claimed the ground with a firm stomp.