A Bed in the Quilt Folds

I trotted inside through the cracked porch door as the outdoor shadows deepened into true night. My hooves felt heavy after patrolling along the road curb. Near the wooden footrest of the armchair, a thick quilted throw had slipped to the floor, forming a series of deep, wavy ridges in the cotton. Using my snout, I lifted the hem of the heaviest fold, crawling forward until the padded fabric arched over my head like a low cavern. I nudged a dropped wooden spool against the opening to prop the drape apart, letting the quiet warmth settle around me.