A Mirrored Surface

Past the overturned bucket, a thick shard of broken glass lay face up in the dirt. I crept low, calculating its sharp edge. When I leaned in to prod it, another snout lunged directly toward mine from within the pane—rigid jaws, pale scales, cold red eyes. I froze. I bared my teeth with a low rasp; the intruder mirrored every tremor. Slowly, I extended one heavy foreclaw and tapped the cold, flat surface. Click. No flesh. Only rigid glass reflecting my own stare. I pressed down until the shard sank firm into the mud, secured beneath my footclaw.