A Gentle Current

The bookcase gave me a steady overview, but a faint flutter across the room drew my focus. I navigated my way down and climbed up to the broad wooden windowsill. Here, the sheer curtain billowed in slow ripples, carrying a fresh, moving pulse of air from the cracked frame. I planted my wing-knuckles firmly against the painted sill, tilting my head toward the gentle breeze. When the fabric drifted close, I raised my beak to lightly press against the hem, letting the cool draft wash over my crest.