Grip on the Staff

The shadows rested heavily around me. I paused, assessing the perimeter. Within my chest, warmth stirred. I flexed my right hand—the painted spear held fast in my grip responded to my intent. Stepping forward slightly on the round green base, I tapped the tip of my weapon against the flat wooden surface beneath me. A soft, steady click echoed into the quiet air. I am awake, and I stand my ground.