A Slanted Pinecone

Night had settled, and the floor grew darker. I wandered past the wool coaster toward the heavy sofa fringe. Near the wooden leg, something rounded and bristled blocked the gap. I paused. It was an open pinecone, resting at an angle on the floorboards. I took a slow step forward and nudged one of its woody scales with my snout. It gave a hollow clatter, rolling slightly before settling against the sofa fabric. I nudged it once more until it tucked neatly beside the carved leg, carving out a shielded little pocket where I could rest my side.