A Rustle in the Stalks

Static ceased. A pulse shuddered upward through my tall limbs, anchoring into cold dirt. Three viewpoints tilted—left, center, right—weighing the stillness. Ssslowly... one neck dipped downward. A damp corn leaf brushed against my snout. The brittle fiber snapped with a faint click. I pulled back instantly, shifting my weight against the damp earth to keep distance. The scent of loam and crushed stalk lingered on my scales. All three pairs of eyes locked onto the quivering green leaf, waiting, before the quiet fog settled once more.