Subterranean Bivouac

Night shadows settle across the carpet valley. The cardboard conduit stands quiet after its trials. Enough launching aircraft through dark tunnels for today. I marched to the entrance, white jet clamped tight to my ribs. Deliberate tread. With steady care, I eased the white jet into the hollow mouth, anchoring its fuselage snugly within the curved cardboard rim. Claws free. I lowered my heavy bulk flat against the outer circular opening, sealing the rear aperture with my massive haunches. My thick tail curled along the outer flank of the tube like an iron gate. The conduit is locked. Night vigil commences.