Field Mark

I kicked out from my cardstock tent and marched straight toward a turned-wood rubber stamp lying flat on the floorboards. Beside it sat an open tin of dark violet ink. Time to make an official field document! I jammed my black beak under the thick wooden knob and heaved upward. The heavy block dragged stubbornly against the floor grain. Back off? Not a chance! I locked my stiff pink feet, threw my weight back, and wrestled the rubber face straight down into the damp sponge with a squelching squish. Then I vaulted forward and drove the stamp hard against a blank card. Thwack! A crisp purple crest stamped into the paper. Certified!