The Birch Bark Curl ep 51

My rope toes led me around the corner of the hearth stone toward the tall brass firewood bucket. Sticking out between two split birch logs was a pale curl of loose bark, rolled tight like a crisp paper scroll. I stopped three paces back, cocking my neck to inspect the creamy white rind. It stayed perfectly still. Stepping in with steady resolve, I clamped my orange beak onto the frayed edge and leaned my whole body backward. With a dry, satisfying rasp, the curled strip peeled cleanly off the log. I gave it an earnest peck, watching it roll across the floorboards into a neat little hoop right between my feet.