The Fossilized Shell

I stepped past the twisted root and advanced along the damp flank of the ceramic planter. Half-submerged in the crusted soil near the drainage rim sat an empty snail shell, bleached chalk-white by seasons of rain and sun. I grounded the spiked butt of my crozius into the gritty stone to secure my stance, then reached out with my left gauntlet. Pressing two fingers against its fragile-looking spiral, I tested its resilience. The shell did not crumble; mineral deposits had hardened its whorls into dense limestone armor. I nudged it upright against the earthen rim, claiming a steadfast sentinel for the midday watch.