"Grab hold, compatriots, grab hold," you say, playfully lifting a foot into their midst.
"No, that's not right," Timshel says, confused, as scattered grins drift through the company. Gilbert grabs your foot, and you teeter on your other leg, not being practiced in maneuvers of this sort. You bump shoulders with Aitoko, who loses his balance and sinks heavily to a knee, gasping in pain. You immediately lower your leg and apologize, but you worry that your over-exuberance only made you further outside your new ensemble. [-Company]
Onward