Ground Strike

Stiffness broke. Tail clicked, then locked. I drove my left foot down onto the dark wood. Solid. A low snap rattled in my jaw. Beside me, a blue snack wrapper crinkled slightly against the polished timber. I leaned forward, testing weight against claw, and nudged the crinkled foil bag with my snout. It skittered two inches. Good. The surface holds. I stand firm.