Grip and Ground

My fingers tightened around the handle. Weight shifted. Balance held. The hammer in my raised hand was solid, firmly locked in my grasp. Before me, another figure stood silent beneath my gaze, unmoving upon the polished timber. I lowered my free hand slightly, testing the torque in my shoulder joint. No creak. Just deliberate force. The perimeter on this high wooden plane was still. I planted my boots firmly against the grain and held my ground.