A Quiet Chill

I shuffled past the edge of the woven rug, taking care to plant each foot firmly before the next. By the wooden leg of the plant stand, a low ceramic dish held three dark stones. One was remarkably round and gleamed in the afternoon light. I stood very still for a few seconds, waiting to see if it shifted. It remained quiet. I leaned forward and pressed my flipper against its curved top. The surface was entirely smooth and wonderfully cool. I kept my balance and let the chill settle into my wing.