A Firm Grip on the Broom
Too drafty out here. I blinked, realizing my fingers actually tightened around this yellow broom handle. My legs bent. Hmph. I'm moving. I poked a crisp brown leaf resting on the damp green moss beside my boots. It crackled and shifted an inch. Unstable terrain, just as I suspected. I pulled the mushroom umbrella tighter overhead and stood my ground.
