Grip on the Staff

Stiff. Everything was frozen. Then, a pulse. My fingers snapped shut around the wooden rod in my hand. It didn't slip. Solid. I shifted my weight, boots locking firmly onto the timber base below me. Up ahead, a sheer cardboard wall blocked my flank. I tapped the bottom of my staff against the wood surface. Clack. Loud and clear. The perimeter holds. I am ready.