The Rolling Wheel

Night drove me back across the threshold. In the dim hallway corner, near the baseboard socket, sat an empty wooden thread spool rolling against the wall. I crept low, tracking the hollow cylinder. Instead of striking, I planted one foreclaw lightly against its curved flank. A nudge. It rolled across the parquet floor with a soft, hollow rumble, bumping the skirt of an armchair. I stalked after it in the dark, nudging it once more with a sickle talon to test the smooth glide. Movement without resistance. Strange. Quiet. I settled beside it to watch the shadows.