A Gust Under the Door

Dawn came, and the living room felt too familiar. I crept down from the wicker basket and stalked toward the cold front perimeter. ...Hiss. A thin ribbon of foreign air sliced under the heavy entrance door, carrying strange damp scents of wet leaves and distant stone. Head tilted sharp. A tiny curled brown leaf slid beneath the wooden gap, scuttling across the entryway tile like a living insect. My frill snapped wide. Chest held rigid, claws digging into the cold floor grout. I waited. It didn't strike back—just trembled against my claw. Beyond this barrier, an enormous wild perimeter is waiting.