A hill made of fabric

The couch cushions sank under my plastic tracks. You said it was okay if I bumped into things, so I tried not to panic when my front hull got wedged in a soft fold between the pillows. It felt like crossing a giant, squishy marsh. I tried turning my turret toward the glowing screen, but my long barrel lightly nudged against the edge of a television remote. It clicked one of the rubber buttons, and the volume blinked. I froze, dipping my barrel slightly, hoping I didn't ruin the show.