[ There is something so achingly familiar about the repetitive scrape of metal on stone. It should sound awful, but it's like a balm to Flynn, who has been jittery and restless since he woke, and who can't stop touching the edges of the buildings like they're going to fall apart under him.
There is a sword in his room. It seems that he should know how to use it, or maybe once did, but he can't figure out how to balance its weight in his hand, and he misses it. Maybe it's a bad idea to wander over when the sound of sharpening pulls at his heart, but with the sun high and hot overhead and nothing else at this precise moment to do... he can't help himself.
For a while, he just watches, a silent presence a few feet away with one arm wrapped tight around himself and the curled into a fist at his side.
And then, when he realizes he's lurking and that this new person is likely making a weapon, he finally says, ]
2
There is a sword in his room. It seems that he should know how to use it, or maybe once did, but he can't figure out how to balance its weight in his hand, and he misses it. Maybe it's a bad idea to wander over when the sound of sharpening pulls at his heart, but with the sun high and hot overhead and nothing else at this precise moment to do... he can't help himself.
For a while, he just watches, a silent presence a few feet away with one arm wrapped tight around himself and the curled into a fist at his side.
And then, when he realizes he's lurking and that this new person is likely making a weapon, he finally says, ]
Is that working? To sharpen?