A Quiet Ripple

The wood underneath felt solid... and cool. I paused, watching the faint gleam across the polished grain. Slowly, I flexed my front feet. My joints clicked softly, lifting my chin just a bit. Before me lay a dark, curved line in the timber—a quiet groove. I slid forward, placing one small toe against it, feeling the tiny ridge. It stayed still. I settled flat against the smooth surface, breathing in the quiet dusk.