Through the Bastion

A towering sand fortress stood in the middle of the pit. Two plastic red shovels lay abandoned nearby. I stopped. I observed its packed turrets and carved moats. It occupied my line of march. I took two deliberate strides into the dry grit. Lowering my center, I leaned forward and drove my thighs and chest squarely into the front wall. The damp sand held for a fraction of a second, then collapsed into a smooth, crumbling avalanche around my knees. I stood motionless in the leveled breach, tail anchored deep in the powdery trench, claiming the clearing.