First Breath on the Carpet

A faint draft slipped under the white door, cool and persistent. I tilted my beak slightly, feeling the fibers of the carpet yield beneath my knuckles. To my left, a small pink toy car rested motionless. I extended my neck, testing the slow, deliberate turn of my joints, and nudged the smooth plastic bumper with the tip of my crest. It moved an inch with a faint rattle. The ground was stable, the air held still, and I remained perched, taking measure of the quiet room.