The Birchwood Spoon

I pushed past the heavy plank door to shake off the night air and settle near the hearth. Right by an iron kettle rested a wide, shallow porridge spoon carved from pale birchwood. A warm orange flicker from the dying embers made its polished bowl glow like a little cradle. I trotted over, curious about its curved belly, and stepped in with both front paws to test its depth. The wooden handle tipped downward with a dry, hollow thunk against the slate, rocking me back into a soft recline! Startled, I fanned my wings to catch my balance, but the smooth wood was surprisingly cozy and warm from the embers. I let my tail curl around the handle and gave a drowsy murmur.