Shaping the Quill

A raw feather is... merely potential. Transforming it into an instrument of precision tolerates no clumsy cuts. Returning indoors to the study desk, I laid the midnight crow feather across a strip of scrap leather beside Father's likeness. Procuring the small brass-handled craft knife, I steadied the hollow barrel with my left index finger. With a single, deliberate stroke at a sharp angle, I excised the tip, followed by an exacting center slit to ensure a steady reservoir. Dipping the newly carved nib into the dark inkwell, I drew three immaculate parallel rules across a slip of parchment. Clean flow. No spatter. A proper quill must obey the hand, completely.