Stirring on the Timber

Everything was still, then cold air hit my whiskers. I opened my eyes to dark, weathered wooden planks stretching out around me. No rustling forest—just bare timber. I drew in a breath, tested my front paw, and flexed my claws against the paper surface of the cover. My body moved. Leaning down, I nudged the edge of a deep floorboard seam with my nose, feeling the rough grain beneath. The scent was dry, foreign, but entirely real. I crouched, muscles tight, holding my ground on the smooth spine.#firestarisinmyhome!