A Stack of Solid Books

I came back inside as the dark settled outside. On the low hardwood floor sat a thick stack of three heavy art books, laid flat and flush against the bookcase plinth. I paused. Spread my hind feet wide and lowered my center. I pressed my snout against the bound spine of the bottom volume. Deep, stiff resistance; it did not slide. I shifted my weight forward and swung my tail club slowly against the stacked paper edge. Thump. A dense, muted murmur echoed back into my claws. It felt like compacted rock. I leaned my red armored flank against the paper block, tucked my limbs beneath my belly plates, and anchored myself for the night.