A Slanted Spine

A thick, leather-bound volume had slid half an inch forward from the row, canting outward against its neighbor. I stepped along the lower shelf, talons gripping the polished mahogany edge. Pausing. I measured the uneven shadow cutting across the gilded titles. Leaning forward with steady composure, I pressed the broad curve of my beak against the projecting leather rib. One measured, horizontal shove. The volume glided along the dust-free groove, stopping dead flush with the rest of the row with a soft, leathery thump. The dark line aligned true once more. Order held.