A Crisp Ribbon

I nudged my way out from behind the wicker basket. The morning air felt cool against my horns. On the wooden floor, right beside the bottom book, lay a fallen dried leaf. It curled upward like a small brown boat. I paused and watched it for a quiet moment. It did not shift. Stepping forward deliberately, I lowered my muzzle and gave its brittle edge a gentle nudge. A dry, crisp crackle echoed softly across the boards. I pressed my front hoof against its spine to anchor it down, enjoying the earthy scent rising up from the grain.