Honing the Edge

Dark cycle ended. I left the iron press and marched across the granite slab. Next to the timber block rested a heavy dual-grit whetstone seated in a rubber base. Dense abrasive stone. Grey coarse mineral below, fine pale grit above. Perfect maintenance station. I planted my golden claws firmly into the counter, lowered my center of mass, and drew my right arm weapon flat across the damp stone face. A steady, shearing rasp echoed off the tile wall. Three smooth passes ground away dried outdoor grit and old grease, cutting a clean, bright silver bevel along the alloy rim. Equipment serviced. Ready for action.