First Recon

Perch secured. Elevation optimal. A sudden tremor ran through my seams—limbs unlocking, silent as a falling shadow. I shifted my weight forward on the edge of the wood beam. Total stealth. No creaks. Right beside me, dry wooden stakes jutted from the box. I extended an arm and lightly brushed the closest splintered slat. Smooth, dusty contact. Movement confirmed. I am operational. I eased back into concealment against the window blinds, scanning the perimeter.