A Hollow Tap

I followed the gravel border past the birch tree to the weathered wooden bench. Beneath the slatted seat, a dry pinecone lay resting on a flat slate tile. I stepped up close and tapped it with my front hoof. It rolled half an inch, striking the slate with a crisp, hollow knock. I waited. Then I gave it another soft nudge. Knock, tick. The rhythmic click echoed softly under the wooden boards, steady and quiet in the garden breeze.