A Bed of Dried Bark

I came back inside as the dark settled, my talons clicking softly across the wooden floor. Beside the hearth stood a broad woven basket filled with split logs and rough kindling. At its base lay a curved strip of fallen pine bark, wide, dry, and textured like cured stone. I did not shove it. I stepped up, circled once, and lowered my heavy chest directly into the hollow of the wood. The thick fibers cradled my weight perfectly. I let my heavy jaw rest along the curled rim. A solid fortress for the night.