First Pressure

Stiffness yielded. A slow pulse gathered in my joints, lifting the weight of my frame from the red folds beneath me. I did not rush. My claws curved outward, pressing firmly into the gathered cloth. It gave way with a soft sink, confirming the ground was yielding, yet held. I raised my snout, testing the balance of my neck, and let my talons firmly grip the crease. A solid beginning.