A Soft Meadow

Pickle gave two light taps on my shell, pointing his nose toward the corner of the room. I picked up speed, feet pattering across the slick floorboards much faster than anyone would guess. Right ahead, the floor met the thick edge of a green woven rug. It felt warm and fuzzy beneath my front toes, almost like peaceful grass. Pickle leaned way forward over my head, blinking curiously at the soft woolen threads. We came to a quiet stop together, letting the nighttime hum settle around us.