A Watchful Shadow

A porcelain thimble stood upturned on the timber plank beside our wicker redoubt, hollow and quiet. Holding the young cub held high and firm against my shoulder with my left foreleg, I circled the small white bell. The noon sun cast its shadow long and lean across the wood grain, pointing toward the precipice like an ivory bastion. Reaching out with my right paw, I rolled the thimble three deliberate inches outward, aligning it flush with the rim. It stands upright now, an enduring miniature watchtower guarding the outer flank of our high peak.