A Gentle Stretch on Mustard Cloth

The quiet of the room held still. Slowly, a low warmth drifted into my limbs. I gave my tail a faint, deliberate flick against the smooth fabric underneath. It obeyed, shifting softly across the mustard sheet without a sound. Beside me, the folded border of the triangle-patterned duvet rested quietly. I extended my left paw just an inch forward, letting the plush tips brush against the cool seam of the cotton. The silence remained soft and undisturbed, just as I like it.