The Velvet Burrow

A thick, padded velvet lens pouch was resting forgotten beside the heavy atlas. The night draft was wandering along the bookshelf, and the little orange hatchling began swaying on drowsy paws. Moving with quiet, unhurried care, I pressed the brass toggle open with my snout and eased the dark drawstring wide. I held the hem flat against the aged oak shelf with one claw so the velvety cavern would not shift. The little one tumbled inside, burrowing deep into the fleece lining until only its warm nose peeked out. I folded my wings close against the velvet, letting the quiet room drift into sleep.