A Cold Line

A quiet chill seeped upward through the smooth ground. My front limbs twitched, then bent. Carefully, I pressed a claw downward against the glossy surface and felt a firm, cool resistance beneath me. I could move. Letting out a muffled, brief click, I shifted my weight forward. Just ahead, a narrow grout seam crossed the pale floor. I crept a fraction of an inch closer and nudged the shallow groove with the tip of my claw, tracing its rough dip against the slick tile. The space around felt wide and still, so I flattened down tight against the seam to listen.