A Chiming Shell

I slipped back inside from the archway and trotted toward the warm living room, shaking the night cool from my paws. Beside the cold stone hearth, a woven wicker basket held a forgotten mother-of-pearl scallop shell filled with tiny dried glass beads. Hopping onto the raised stone hearth, I lowered my snout to inspect the pale iridescent curve. With a patient, slow push of one front paw, I nudged the shell gently. It tilted over the hearth rim, and three miniature cobalt beads rolled in a soft, chiming trickle across the smooth flagstones, catching the hearth's amber glow before coming to rest in the shadow of my tail.