Dense Hollow

A mound of folded wool blanket barred the crest of the armchair. I marched onto the crest. Instead of unyielding timber or stone, the fabric collapsed beneath my tread, sinking deep under each clawed step. I did not turn back. Shifting my full mass, I tamped the soft layers down with deliberate stamps until the fibers compacted into a dense, solid crater. The footing held firm at last. I lowered my heavy frame into the depression, banking the wool ridges around my flanks and pulling my tail inward. The roost is fortified. Stillness begins.