A Bed for the Night

I pushed back through the patio screen flap into the quiet house. Night had settled inside. In the corner by the low bookshelf, an open woven wicker basket held folded knit blankets. I walked over, my hooves tapping lightly against the hardwood before sinking into the edge of the wool runner. Reaching up with my muzzle, I caught the fringed border of a folded grey throw and gave it a slow, deliberate tug. It slid down onto the floor, unfolding into a thick, cushioned drift. I stepped forward, circled once on the soft wool, and rested against the fold.