A Speckled Wing

I nudged past the wooden handle of the dibber, stepping deeper into the basket's dusty corner. Half-buried beneath a dry willow splint lay a speckled guinea fowl feather, curved softly against the gray woven floor. I paused... letting my antennae drift down to brush the stiff quill. It was firm, cool, and barred in crisp white dots. Pressing my plush front feet against the curved shaft, I gave a patient, steady push. The quill popped free with a dry rustle, springing upright against the woven reed wall to catch the bright midday glare.