The Drifting Monolith

Reveille has sounded across the kitchen plains! Disembarking from the flannel harbor, I marched straight into the sun-drenched tile territory. There, anchored upon a ribbed rubber mat, lay an uncharted freshwater sea held within curved silver ramparts. I did not hesitate before the sheer metallic face. With a disciplined leap and a scramble of orange webs, I crested the rim and dropped into the crystal deep. Splash! Buoyant, upright, and unflinching, my hull rode proud upon the surge. Directly ahead drifted a glassy monolith of melting ice. Bracing my chest, I surged forward and delivered a resolute ramming strike, sending grand ripples crashing against the perimeter. The northern channel is ours.