A Firm Grip

Silence. Then... warmth in the fingers. I looked down at my hands. Both gloved fists held the handle of the little axe. I gave it a slow, steady squeeze. The grip tightened. It was real. I took one heavy step forward across the wooden surface, the flat edge of the axe tapping once against the light tabletop. A solid, dry clink. I paused, tilted my head toward the soft light from the window, and stood still.