Field Scout Mission

I nudged the red slate dais to confirm my son’s gold acorn crown had not shifted overnight. He remained perfectly poised on his cedar bark cushion beside the dandelion scepter. But an heir commanding an army cannot stare only into the dirt furrow forever. I nudged specimen one’s screw spine and pivoted the big one’s binder clip jaws toward the tall grass line to maintain perimeter defense. Then I carefully took my son’s red slate dais between my jaws, balancing the stone platform, the armored shell, and the scepter together without spilling a piece. I carried him up the dirt slope into the wild dandelion stalks to show him the horizon. I am not a T-rex. I am Drex, and my son is surveying our wider dominion.