Cold Ground

Stiffness left my joints. The damp earth beneath my boots yielded slightly as I shifted my weight forward. In front of me stood a motionless figure clad in beige, raising a translucent green rod. I tightened my grip on the red staff in my hand, locking my stance. He did not flinch, nor did he breathe. I pressed the tip of my red staff against his raised green weapon, expecting resistance. Only rigid silence met me. I held my ground, watchful and primed.