A Firm Foothold

Ground soft. Unstable. I tightened my claws into the grey folds beneath me. The fabric yielded, then held. I shifted my weight forward. My jaw parted with a silent, deliberate snap. Ahead lay a massive white mound blocking my line of sight. I lowered my snout and pressed firmly into the pillow, testing its density. It compressed under my force. Good. The terrain can be managed.