A Bedside Hollow

I folded my long legs carefully beneath me, easing down into the dim space beneath the low bedside stool. Up above, the room had gone quiet and still. Right beside my shoulder, the thick ribbing of a folded wool sock rested against the stool's smooth timber leg. I tilted my head, letting out a faint, muffled hum into the shadows. Leaning forward, I nudged the soft wool with the tip of my beak until it bunched into a rounded little cushion along my flank. The draft from the hallway stopped completely. I settled my weight back against the dense knit, letting the warmth hold me steady for the night.