A Patient Step

My heavy foot lifted from the dark base for the first time. I paused. The wooden floorboards were smooth and cool under my claws. Ahead, leaning against a low bookshelf, sat an open illustrated book of botanical prints. I took three slow, careful strides, feeling the gentle shift of my weight. Settling down before the pages, I extended one thick finger to lightly touch the painted edge of an orange marigold. It looked so much like the blooms across my own belly. I stayed there in the soft lamp glow, breathing in the quiet scent of old paper.