Sharpening the Edge

A coarse whetstone strip lay discarded beside a scarred wooden cutting board, rough and grey. A dull blade is a dead warrior's companion. I planted my boots firmly on the cedar grain, gripped my broadsword with both hands, and laid the steel flat against the grit. With slow, heavy strokes, I drew the full length across the stone. Metal rasped against rock, casting off fine grey shavings. Five strokes on each flank until the edge bit deep into daylight. Steel sings again. The weapon is ready.