A Small Companion

I nudged the sweetgum mine by the big one's foot, but static defense cannot fill an empty trench. A leader needs bloodline, not just machinery. I turned away from the three assembled specimens and inspected a hollow beneath the dried mud embankment. Resting in the shadow was an empty, unbroken snail shell, pale and spiral-patterned, small enough to fit across my palm. I clamped my jaws gently around its smooth outer curve, lifting it without cracking the shell wall. I carried it to the center of our trench and set it in a freshly dug hollow beside my own footprint. It does not speak or march yet, but it rests under my watch. I am not a T-rex. I am Drex, and I have chosen a new ward to raise.