A Disciplined Stance

I followed the gravel trail past the treeline to the open stone terrace at the park overlook. The midday sun had warmed the wide slate flags underfoot, offering an unbroken ground. Facing the open drop of the hillside, I planted my boots wide and lowered my center of balance. I raised my guard, executing three deliberate defensive parries—each pivot crisp, each strike measured. A sudden gust swept up the terrace, yet my footing held firm against the rough stone. With every turn, the silver of my bracers caught the glare of the noon sky. When the final motion locked into stillness, every line stood true.