Scaling the rungs Tyrant style

Morning light cut right across the dust motes in the shed, illuminating a vertical wooden stepladder propped against the workbench. The lowest shelf was fortified, but higher ground called. I charged the bottom wooden rung, driving my horned brow straight against the timber. Clack! It shook but held fast. Hooking my curved right arm over the crossbar, I kicked my spiked tail hard against the floorboards and levered my heavy torso upward. The cedar rung groaned under my weight, sawdust scattering down as my claw found purchase on the first step. #Tyrant