"I hear." Krug stood up.
He walked out to the Plaza. He didn't call for Iron-Scale, who was needed to command the defense. He called for the heavyweights.
Gorak (The Vanguard) dropped his shovel, wiping coal sweat from his brow. The Root-Father (Treant Elder) unrooted himself from the defensive line, his leaves wilted but his bark hard as iron. Old-Shell (The Tank) lumbered forward, his massive form casting a shadow over the square.
"Load up," Krug ordered.
Gorak grabbed two heavy sacks of Refined Coal Dust. He patted Old-Shell's flank. "Don't sink, old man," Gorak grunted.
The Root-Father, too large to fit inside, latched onto Old-Shell's back. His roots wove into the ridges of the shell, anchoring him like a turret. He would be the external filter, absorbing the worst of the toxins to protect the hull.
Krug and Gorak climbed inside the hollow cavity beneath the shell. The membrane sealed shut.
"We go," Old-Shell rumbled.
