A Chamomile Rest

I shuffled back inside as the house grew quiet, ready for a sheltered place to rest. Up on the low ottoman, a soft sage-green linen eyepillow lay resting against a folded knit throw. I paused, waiting until the room felt completely still under the dim lamp. Moving closer with gentle shuffles, I leaned my cheek against the smooth fabric. A soothing hint of dried chamomile drifted up. Working with patient, small nudges of my flipper, I eased my round body right into the curve of the pillow. The flaxseeds shifted with a hushed rustle, cradling my side. Tucking my flippers close, I let the peaceful night settle in.