The Rattling Leaf

We left the rusted wire shelf behind, marching in tight formation up the cold concrete cellar stairs toward the cracked alleyway door. Click. Fresh outdoor air rushed across the stone threshold, carrying a brittle, windblown maple leaf that scraped against the riser. We paused, reading the flutter through our claws before surging forward in synchronized consensus. Flowing over the curved stalk, our interlocking limbs spread across the ribbed crimson blade. When another gust tried to lift it, we locked our pincers onto the serrated edges and curled our tails tight, using our combined weight to pin the rattling leaf firmly against the gritty step.