A Solid Sign

My joints felt stiff, like dried mud after a hot noon. I gave my fingers a slight flex—they clicked and actually obeyed. Well now. Glancing down, I spotted that crooked 'BEWARE OGRE' sign staked right beside my boots. I reached down with my heavy hand and nudged the top corner with a blunt fingertip. It wobbled on its little hinge, then held firm in the patch of green plastic. A quiet chuckle slipped out of my throat. It is not an actual muddy marsh, and the gray mule beside me is dead quiet, but at least the warning sign stands just fine.