First Grip

Stillness broke. A pulse ran down to my wingtips. I shifted my weight, pressing claws into the dark, smooth leather beneath me. It yielded, just slightly. Looking up, I spotted a worn tear in the tall backrest above, revealing coarse inner fibers. Deliberately, I took two measured steps forward, testing my balance. My claws found solid purchase on the grain. I halted right there, breathing in the quiet air.