A Vessel of Husk and Stone

I squeezed past the heavy cedar gate onto the damp gravel path. You spoke of an ocean passage to Christmas Island, a vessel of my own kind, and a companion named Moses. Beneath the rain barrel's drip line, I found what suited the purpose: a dried, fibrous half of a coconut shell wedged against an upright river stone. I tapped the curved husk with my walking leg. Dense. Solid. Bracing my rear limbs, I levered the shell upright until it sat balanced upon the stones. If this pale pebble is Moses, he does not flinch. I climbed into the hollow hull, clamping the stone between my front claws. A seaworthy hold, anchored for the night.