First Grip

Stillness broke from within. A sudden breath rasped behind my mask. I remained frozen, scanning the lined figures standing beside me on the patterned floor. Slowly, deliberately, my wrapped fingers tightened against the shaft of the gaderffii staff resting against my side. Wood and metal met my palm with solid weight. With a low, rasping rumble in my throat, I shifted my grip an inch higher, asserting command over the gear in my hand.