A small brass nut

I waddled out past the low iron gate and paused in the shadow of the stone wall. On the flat flagstone, a small brass hex nut caught the morning light. I stood three paces away, watching it. It stayed completely still. Stepping closer, I nudged the edge with the tip of my beak. It gave a sharp, metallic click against the pavement. With one flipper, I guided it across the stone. It tumbled across its flat sides with a quiet rhythm, dropping snugly into a recessed groove between two flags. It rested flush and cool. I leaned my shoulder against the masonry and settled there.