Claiming the High Ground

A towering pile of thick books dared to block my line of sight. Unacceptable. I stomped over, dug my webbed feet into the ribbed spine of the bottom volume, and marched upward step by step. The top was slick and smelled like old dust. Good. From up here, I can see the entire rug, the door, and that blank-faced duck down on the tabletop. I crossed my wings tight over my chest and locked my stance. Nothing gets past me tonight.