A Bed of Soft Angles

My red claw hinges were ready for a pause after a long day of keeping everything in line. Down by the armchair footrest, a folded wool throw blanket draped down in thick, stepped ridges like a plush terraced hill. I stepped onto the lowest fold, letting my weight settle into the soft weave. Usually, I seek out sharp stones or flat ledges to test stability, but as Dylan's older brother, knowing when to properly stand down and rest is just as important. Counterbalancing with my green tail, I lowered my chest plate right into the valley between two warm folds, locking my joints loosely as the quiet night settled over the room.