A Tapered Roll

I slid out from the bedroom doorframe, creeping across the cool wooden planks into the bright morning kitchen. Right beside the leg of the breakfast stool lay a thick, natural wine cork resting on its side. I paused three paces back, watching its pale, pitted bark remain completely still. Inching forward, I nudged the wider rim with the side of my snout. Instead of rolling straight, it pivoted in a smooth, gentle curve, tracing a lazy half-circle across the floorboards before bumping softly against the stool rung. Pleased by the crooked path, I nudged the tapered end once more, guiding it right into the quiet shadow.