A Measure of Steel

I marched away from the linen spine of the sketchbook, crossing into the central clearing of the pine planks. There, resting beside an overturned walnut shell, lay a heavy steel pocketknife with scales of stag antler. Its brass bolster gleamed faintly in the morning light. Grounding the spiked ferrule of my crozius against the grain, I placed my armored gauntlet upon the cold pivot pin. I pressed my weight downward to test the internal backspring. It yielded not a fraction of an inch to my test, stiff and uncompromised by slack or rust. Satisfied with such staunch ironcraft, I held position beside the steel flank.