A Speckled Feather

A tiny gray feather had drifted down, caught right between two chilled metal rails. I crept forward across the smooth stone tiles, taking small, cautious steps until my beak touched the soft down. It stirred gently when I exhaled. Beside it rested a small brass screw, glinting dimly under the midday glare. Tipping forward, I nudged the screw with my flipper until it pressed lightly against the feather's quill, pinning it safe from the sudden gusts of wind.