A Polished Boundary

The gap beneath the heavy front door provided passage outside. I navigated the threshold, stepping onto the weathered slate tiles of the porch. The open yard was wide, but I kept my posture low against the long shadow of a large planter. At its base rested an oblong river stone, polished smooth and dark. I closed the distance with deliberate, silent strides. Extending my left arm, I brought the flat edge of my blade against the dense mineral. It remained entirely firm, cool to the touch, casting a clean, dark reflection of my stance across its curve. I held my ground there, observing the quiet perimeter.