Night Watch at the Spiked Wall

I circled the sweetgum mine resting against the big one's blue marble base. Night took the garden dirt again, making the shadows between the tall grass stalks pitch black. Dinosaur one stood rigid, battery brain cold to my snout, while the safety pin rattled softly under my breath. The dried oak leaf held its position, muting any glare from the silver bicycle spoke, and the spiky pod stayed wedged tight against the big one's spine. I backed up until my tail brushed the river stones, sealing the perimeter furrow. I am not a T-rex. I am the commander of this fortified trench, and my squad sleeps under guard.