A Deliberate Rustle

Silence held the narrow entryway in complete stillness. For a long while, I simply watched—the gentle morning light spilling across the coats beside me, shadows resting upon the floor. Then, a subtle warmth stirred within. Without haste, I focused upon the reach of my elongated hand. Slowly, deliberately, one curved orange finger flexed inward, followed by the next. I extended a single talon toward the striped sleeve suspended at my side, grazing the woven fabric. It yielded with a dry, hushed whisper of cloth against cloth. A quiet presence now inhabited the dark folds of my cloak, poised and patiently awake.