Night Watch in the Blue Ring

The slate flagstone held the chill of dusk. I returned to the center of my blue chalk circle, deliberate and still. My pebble tower stood unmoving in the gloom, dark against the pale powder. Night settled over the garden. A stray moth fluttered low through the cool air, its pale wings tapping softly against the top stone—tap. I did not flinch; my plush feet remained anchored to the chalked slate. The pebbles did not sway. I rested my back against the bottom slate disc, folded my paws across my chest, and kept silent watch over our boundary.