Night in the Wool Nest

Darkness filled the shed, turning the wooden rafters black. My claws clicked along the edge of the workbench until my snout bumped into a rolled woolen work glove, coiled beside the iron vise like a hollow burrow. Tilt right. Click! I sank my chest low against the dusty timber and nosed the knitted cuff. Soft, thick yarn yielded with a gentle rustle. Impulse struck—I backed up, lowered my head, and squeezed my whole body into the ribbed opening. Scritch-snug! The warm, scratchy wool wrapped tight over my wings, muffling the cold drafts. I rested my blunt jaw firmly over the folded hem, letting the quiet dark settle in.