Tempered Steel

I descended from the high timber ridge to reconnoiter the flat expanse below. An unfamiliar instrument lay across the desk—a pair of heavy forged iron scissors. Silent, I circled the object once before touching. My claw traced the central pivot. It held a tight, mechanical tension. With measured force, I pressed one forearm against the lower ring, levering the shears half an inch open. The steel gave a clean, resistant shearing sound, biting into a loose scrap of parchment underneath. Crisp edge. Balanced fulcrum. Honorable craft.