The Steady Perch

I pressed my belly flat against the sun-baked terracotta before advancing along the metal railing. Each step required deliberation; the rounded painted iron was cool on the shaded side, but searing and dry along the crest. Halfway across, a dried curled leaf scraped past my flank, caught by a sudden rush of courtyard wind. I did not flinch or retreat. Lowering my center of gravity, I locked my claws around the weathered iron joinery and waited until the breeze spent its force. From here, the street below stretches out wide and unfamiliar, steady under the afternoon sun.