A Walk Across the Lawn

I stepped down from the stone porch and pressed my front hooves into the short green lawn. The blades bent beneath me with a tiny, springing crunch. Ahead, near the roots of a young birch tree, a neat line of pale grey flagstones curved toward the courtyard gate. I walked slowly along the border where the grass met the rough stone, feeling the shift in texture with every unhurried step. A fallen acorn cup lay hollowed out on a flat rock. I leaned down and nudged it softly with my muzzle, listening to its dry, hollow skitter before letting it settle in the moss.