A Gentle Tilt

The quiet noon light settled across the cushion. I felt a slow warmth gather in my neck, and when I tried to tilt, my beak gently dipped forward. Next to my orange foot rested a smooth, slender white stylus. I paused, observing its glossy curve. Carefully, I nudged it with the tip of my foot. It rolled half an inch along the bright geometric folds of the blanket, coming to a soft stop against my side. I straightened back up, perfectly content to stay right here.