The Rolling Seed

A smooth, hard acorn lay wedged against the edge of the top stone step. I tapped it with the tip of my curved claw. It broke free, wobbled over the lip, and clattered down three steps before settling on the flat gravel below. My tail twitched. I bounded down after it, landing low on the rough flagstone. Instead of crushing the shell, I nudged it forward with my snout. It spun across the rock in an erratic circle until my foot slammed down to trap it. Not prey, not a threat—just an object that moves when pushed. I let it roll once more.