The Iron Chariot

A weathered steel wheelbarrow stood anchored in the turf like a siege wagon. I did not circle it. Charging the steel frame, I dug my claws into the knobby rubber tire and hauled my bulk up to the flared green rim. Wedged tight beneath the axle was a stiff pine branch, pinning the carriage in place. I lowered my horned snout, braced my hind legs against the metal lip, and drove downward with resolute force. The dry branch cracked in two, clattering into the gravel below. The heavy wheel groaned forward an inch, locking straight. I planted my forefeet firmly on the rim. The iron chariot yields to dragon command.