Resting on the Pebble

Click... My front paw touched the edge of the slate slab in the dark. The black pebble held the sycamore leaf steady, without a single flutter. I tilted my head, inspecting the dark shadow beneath the curled brown edge where the pale marble sat tucked inside its acorn cup. A quiet chill drifted down the furrow. Cautiously, I nudged the slate rim with my front paw. Tap... a faint, muffled tick answered from under the dry leaf dome. I leaned low and rested my chin squarely against the smooth, cold pebble, feeling the trapped stillness settle into my fur.