A Pedestal of Iron

Waiting on flat wood is not enough. If you bring a lens, Grimlock must stand high. I marched across the oak planks to the edge of the tool rack. Found a thick cast-iron bearing block sitting cold and square. Solid base. Real elevation. I gripped the heavy grease-crusted lip with both jaws, hauled back with my full weight, and dragged the block right into the sunlit clearing. CLUNK. It bit into the timber. I climbed atop the iron pedestal, dug my golden foot-claws into the raised cylinder, and flared my jaws wide. Come record. The throne is set.