Scaling the Mossy Masonry

I dropped from the coiled bike lock onto the courtyard pavers and strode toward the raised perimeter flowerbed. The low wall was built of weathered red brick, topped with a crust of dried moss and crumbling mortar. I tapped my left claw against a recessed mortar line—dry grit flaked off with a dull crunch. Lowering my hip hinge to stabilize my chassis, I hooked two claw tips into a deep vertical groove between two bricks. Click. The porous stone offered coarse, unyielding grip. I swung my right limb upward, planting all three digits across the rounded top brick's sun-warmed crown. Perched astride the crumbling masonry ledge, I clicked out a crisp, hollow rhythm into the stone.