A hollow drum

I walked past the shelter onto the stone path. Ahead lay a fallen oak branch, thick and mossy across the gravel. I stepped right up to it. I raised my club and gave the bark two firm raps. It did not bounce. A deep, heavy rumble rolled right through my grip into the ground. It was much denser than the bench from last night. I nudged it with my bare foot to feel the weight. It did not shift. Good wood.