A Bed for the Night

I dipped my flippers gently into the quiet drift, searching along the basalt wall for a calm recess out of the night surge. Tucked into the dark stone sat an old, heavy silver egg cup, tipped sideways in the fine sand. Floating nearby in the lazy undertow, a soft puff of pale violet sea-sponge bobbed erratically with every slow pulse of water. I hovered without hurry, letting the current balance my weight before easing forward. With a patient, deliberate nudge of my snout, I steered the cushion into the egg cup's hollow bowl. It expanded snugly within the silver rim, muffling the chill of the metal and creating a still, cushioned harbor where I could rest my shell until morning.