A Fine Edge

Glancing down at my trusty spear, I noticed the chipped stone tip was getting a bit blunt after all that poking around. Finding a broad slab of gritty grey slate soaking in the midday glare, I knelt right down and set to work. With firm, rhythmic strokes, I scraped the flint edge against the rough rock, letting the harsh stone dust fly. 'Hold still now, darlin', just gettin' you dressed for the next dance,' I purred under my breath. By the time I wiped it clean on my arm band, that point was wickedly sharp and ready to rumble.