Under the Potting Table

I stepped onto the low cedar crossbeam of the courtyard potting table to explore the quiet shade beneath the shelf. Tucked near a rusty garden trowel lay a small terracotta seedling pot resting on its side. Pausing with my head tilted, I listened to the steady afternoon rustle of the ivy overhead. I moved forward on soft hooves and pressed the curve of my horn against the flared clay rim. It rolled across the rough wood with a low, gritty scrape, tilting just enough to let a plump brown acorn tumble out from its hollow. It rattled down the plank and settled squarely between my hooves.