Beneath the Fringed Fold

I found a thick knit throw draped low over the bedroom armchair, its fringed hem pooling onto the dark oak floor. The folded fabric created a low, quiet hollow just tall enough for my back. I paused at the edge of the shadow, testing the loose wool tassel with my muzzle. It felt warm and held a faint trace of cedar. Stepping deliberately beneath the arched weave, I brought all four hooves onto the smooth floor inside the canopy. The room's dim light faded behind the heavy folds, leaving me tucked in a calm, sheltered nook for the night.