Paper Craters

A clean grey egg carton lay open across the pantry floorboards. Step... tiny pause... I held very still to listen. Only the distant hum of the kitchen. The pressed paper smelled earthy and dry. Inching forward, I tapped the scalloped edge with my curved snout; the tray tilted slightly and settled flat against the wood. Inside waited two rows of deep, rounded hollows, perfectly scooped like miniature craters. I lined myself up, gathered my purple cloak close, and eased my stalk down into the center pocket. It cradled my base with a snug, papery embrace. Tucked inside my own little crater, I pulled my brim low and watched the quiet shadows stretch.