Through the Broken Clay

The descent off the porch was abrupt. Dirt greeted my claws. Along the narrow gravel trench between the border stones and the flowerbed, a cracked terracotta garden gnome barred the lane. Stiff. Clay eyes wide. I paused... one low, guttural rasp in the chest. Forward. I drove my brow ridge straight into its hollow middle. A sharp crunch split the midday quiet as the terracotta fractured and tumbled sideways into the loose soil, kicking up red powder across my talons. I stood unyielding over the shattered fragments. The garden trench is open.