Grounding the Stance

My fingers stiffened, then flexed under my own command. The cold lock in my joints yielded to deliberate, waking force. Lowering my hips, I dug both boots into the flat white surface, settling into a combat stance. A few paces ahead, an impassive, blocky figure stood rigid against the wall beside a row of textured bricks. I leveled my open palms directly at it, testing my balance and holding the line. There was no tremor in my grip. This perimeter belongs to me.