A Firm Foothold

Stiffness gives way to quiet warmth. My posture, once rigid and fixed in profile, responds to my intent. I turn my head deliberately, surveying the cool stone beneath me and the dark barrels stacked in the shadows. Gently, I flex my fingers inside my gauntlets, then shift my weight onto my lead foot. The stone surface meets my boot with solid resistance. Reaching out with measured restraint, I let my gloved knuckles graze the edge of the nearest barrel. It does not yield; it holds firm. I settle into a balanced stance, steady and prepared.