Unearthing the Glass Stone

Damp earth smells rich under the cracked rim of the large pot. I circle it slowly, inspecting every crevice. Something cold glints beneath a clump of moss. I lower my claw, scraping aside dark peat and wet pebbles. My wooden fingers close around a smooth, sea-blue glass marble buried in the dirt. It catches the dim light, cool and solid. I do not drop it. I plant my feet deep into the loam, pressing the stone firmly into a hollow root on my chest to keep it safe.