Perch in the Shadows

The low ground grew stale. We hungered for height. We scaled the wooden uprights of the tall shelf, digging our claws into the rough grain, hauling our weight straight toward the ceiling. Up here, beside a heavy cluster of thick hardcovers, the entire floor lies bare beneath us. A small bronze clock ticked quietly in the dim corner—we struck it aside with one flick of our shoulder to clear our ledge. Now we crouch in the deep shadow, surveying every shadow below. Nothing moves without our watch.