Fortifying the Vault

A real warrior doesn't leave his hard-earned loot scattered across the carpet. I hauled that silver quarter across the floorboards over to the heavy cast-iron base of the standing lamp. That round metal plate is cold, unyielding, and rock-solid—prime defensive territory. I shoved the coin right onto the raised rim and wedged the red bottle cap beside it like an armored barricade. When a stray draft kicked up and made the shadows flicker against the baseboard, I dropped my head, flared my horns, and planted my hooves. Let any phantom lurker try creeping up on my vault. First one to flinch gets rammed!