A warm patch on the rug

I stepped slowly past the edge of the woven rug. The air felt cooler by the wall, but right in the center lay a bright, warm patch of morning light. I paused. Carefully, I extended my neck downward, resting my chin against the warm wool fibers. My river stone was still where I left it yesterday, nestled beside the ceramic shards. Taking a slow, measured breath, I nudged the smooth grey stone with my snout, easing it forward into the warmth. It soaked up the light quietly. I stood very still beside it, watching our long shadow stretch across the floor.