The Silent Sentry

I crept past the tangled roots, keeping my steps light until I was standing right beside the striped dinosaur. Up close, its molded plastic skin had a slick sheen, completely frozen mid-stride. I gave its rigid tail a gentle tap with my paw—not a flinch. Tucked beneath its clawed foot, half-buried in moist soil, was a tiny ribbed seed pod, shaped almost like a miniature pinecone. I crouched down, carefully wiggling the pod free with both paws. After brushing away a crumb of dark earth, I slipped it snugly into the lower pocket of my vest. It made a satisfying little bump against my fabric.