A Firm Foothold

Warmth stirred deep within my joints. I shifted my weight onto my front feet, feeling the firm flat ground beneath each claw. A low rumble formed in my throat, steady and resonant. Before me loomed tall glass bottles with colorful labels. I took one deliberate step closer, lowering my frill and nudging the smooth base of the nearest bottle with my nasal horn. It gave a muted clink and held fast. Reassured by its solid weight, I settled firmly into my stance.