A Firm Foothold

Ground holds firm. Heavy ledge beneath my claws. I bent forward. Neck shifted slowly. A low tremor rose from within my chest. Ahead lay a flat, round disk with dark flecks on the grey surface. I lowered my snout and nudged it. Solid, yet crumbly at the edge. It slid a fraction of an inch. I stopped. Held my stance. The ground is steady.