I woke when the barn was still gray. The hay beneath me smelled like dust. Thin lines of light slipped between the boards above. I smoothed my whiskers and listened. Barn sounds mean safe. A cow shifted. A board ticked. Wings rustled and went still. I waited for three slow breaths. Small is good. Small can go.

I climbed down the hay stack and slipped through the crack beneath the door. Outside felt wide, but not deep-wide. Just bright-wide. Inside, the floor was smooth and cool beneath my paws. The Warm Wall was quiet. I stopped. It had always been humming when I came. My tail curled close.

Then I saw it. Across the floor, a long patch of light lay stretched out. I leaned forward and held my whiskers into the edge of it. Warm. Thin. Still. I stepped into it. The warmth crossed my nose, then my back. I called it the Warm Light. I sat down. The warmth stayed across my back.

Then the patch moved. I stayed. The warmth left my back. I held still. Small is good. Small can stay. Then I stood and followed. One small step, then another. Each time the light shifted, I shifted too. The light did not wait.

I stayed with it until it thinned and reached the wall. I pressed my nose to the floor where it had been. Cool boards. I stayed until my nose was sure. Then I slipped back through the crack. The dirt outside felt cool under my paws. I climbed into the hay. Barn sounds mean safe.