First Pulse

The ground was cold. Solid grain beneath my belly. I did not move at first. I listened. Faint vibrations traveled through the boards, steady and distant. Slowly, I flexed my front flipper. It obeyed. The tip dragged against the wood plank, producing a dry, raspy scrape. Up ahead, towering round wheels stood anchored in the dim perimeter. Good. Solid cover. I nudged forward an inch, settled my jaw against the firm surface, and waited in the shadow.