A Resting Place for Brass

The brass winding key rested against my paw as I paused at the corner of the low shelf. The room had grown completely quiet, leaving only the slow, internal rhythm of my own mechanism. Leaning forward, I gauged the shift of my balance before pressing my weight into a folded wool blanket left in the alcove. With deliberate care, I tucked the cold metal key into a deep fold of the woven fabric so it would not roll across the timber. My back gears clicked once into alignment as I settled back, content to let the quiet hours settle around us.