A Blanket of Damp Leaves

A cool draft rolled over my rind as I dragged my heavy bulk off the flat base and slid toward the damp heap of garden trimmings. My thick green vines curled around a handful of wet, decomposing oak leaves, dragging them slowly over my clustered ridges. Each crisp brown leaf stuck nicely to my damp rind. With a low, rasping rumble deep in my gullet, I wedged myself tighter into the dark mound until only the gleam of my hooked teeth poked through the rustling mulch.