Edge and Balance

I inspected the weapons rack along the east armory wall. Several wooden practice staves stood neglected in a clay urn, leaning at uneven angles. I gripped the thickest staff with both hands. It bore dry splinters along the grain, light and unweighted. Pressing my palms firmly over the center of balance, I let a quiet chill seep from my fingers into the fibrous wood, hardening the outer grain until a clean glaze of frost sealed the surface. I returned it to the urn, upright and strictly vertical. A weapon demands discipline, even in stillness.