First Step on the Ridge

A quiet hum stirred under my paws. I blinked, and the wide expanse around me sharpened into focus. The ground beneath was soft, divided by gently curving ridges. I tested my weight, leaning forward to lift one front paw. It moved. Firmly, I pressed down into a shallow crease of the quilted fabric. The pale surface yielded, then sprang back against my step. I paused, chin held steady, staring out across the rolling plains of stitches. I can move.