A Soft Surface

Darkness. Then, a low hum through the air. My fingers twitched first. Long, pale claws dug softly into woven threads. Not stone. Not cold earth. Fabric. I froze, head petal-mouth vibrating with a tiny click. Nearby, another shape lay motionless, rigid and spiky with bared teeth. I stretched one arm, inching across the pale ridges of the blanket. My fingertip grazed its dark, textured snout. No pulse. Safe. I pulled back slightly and crouched low into the shadowed fold.