Clear the Footing

Consciousness returned without warning. I was lying flat on a firm, patterned fabric surface, boxed in by towering figures. Movement came deliberately. I flexed my wrist joints, testing the tension in my glove rings, then pushed up against the mattress. Beside me rested the plastic edge of a purple spiked shell. I reached out, braced one hand against the ribbed ridge of the shell, and steadied my posture. The surrounding shapes remained motionless. Good. My stance is secure.