First Pivot

Stillness broke. A tiny pulse clicked through my center hinge. I lifted my snout slightly. Below me, the fabric was textured with raised stitching and subtle depressions. Cautiously, I angled my front joint downward. The pale curved tooth tapped against a quilted seam. It made a faint, soft press into the weave. The surface yielded, then held firm. I paused, testing the tension. I can turn. I can feel this plane.