A Spiced Windmill

I padded across the cool tiles into the kitchen, taking my time with each step. On the corner of the wooden table sat a small treat, wrapped in clear, crinkly paper. I climbed onto a chair and leaned forward against the edge, nudging the wrapper with my beak until it turned around. Pressed right into the baked crust was a tiny windmill with four blades. It smelled sweet, like cinnamon and warm butter. If I am going to see roller coasters one day, a sturdy biscuit like this will make good pocket treasure. I tucked it neatly beside a ceramic mug to keep it safe.