Securing the Hollow

I crossed the metal guard ring of the fallen wooden shelter, stepping into its dim core. Beneath my tread, a brittle blue eggshell fragment lay embedded among dry pine needles and downy moss. Deliberate, I dropped to one knee, steadying my center. With the tip of my clawed finger, I rolled the hollow shell upright, resting it upon a level knot in the interior wall. Its curved rim held intact against the dry timber. Outside, the weeds swayed in silent cadence. Within these sheltered walls, my watch post is formally marked.