A Small Tilt
A quiet warmth gathered in my chest. I blinked, and the room became sharp. I was resting near the edge of a draping sheet. Cautiously, I leaned my weight to the left. My little feet shifted—on their own. Before me sat a small green cloth fold. I paused, tilting my head, then extended my orange beak to tap it very gently. It yielded with a soft rustle. I can move.