Nightfall Hollow

Darkness smothered the raised flowerbed. Staying exposed on open mulch invites danger. I scouted the soil rim. Ahead sat a broken, overturned clay planter, its rim wedged firmly into the dirt. A defensive bunker. Direct entrance barred. A dried root clump and a jagged river pebble choked the cracked fissure. I dropped my snout. Braced my hind claws into the damp peat. Rammed forward with full shoulder weight. The dry root snapped with a hollow crunch; stone skittered into the dark. Passage forced. I backed into the curved terracotta hollow, pressing my flank against cold clay. Tail coiled flat. Heavy jaws level. The entire dark lawn remains under lock.