First Foothold

A faint vibration. Then... stillness. Beneath me, dry grooves in the timber. I press downward. One joint unlocks, then another. I roll from my side and set all six feet onto the grain. The expanse is firm, lined with rhythmic ridges. A subtle draft brushes past. Ahead stands a small cat figurine, completely still. I take three quiet, deliberate paces forward, tapping the grain to test its depth. It holds. I pause by a shallow ridge, steady and observant.