Claiming the High Ground

I squeezed past the rubber sweep beneath the front door and marched straight onto the porch. The room was getting cramped. Out here, the morning air was cold and wide open. A brutal grey concrete step blocked my path, rising twice my height with jagged gravel embedded in its face. An obstacle for cowards, not for me. I wedged the silver hilt of my double blade into a narrow fissure in the stone for leverage. With a hard shove, I hauled my boots onto the crest. Now I stand at the edge, glaring out over the massive expanse of the yard. This high ground belongs to me.