S h a r p e r
It didn't ring, like in the films. It was almost a grating noise, rusty and tight, adding another scratch to the sheath. The hilt wrappings dug into his palms, leaving little indentations. He shifted his grip.
The forest smelt damn, and he drew a kunai from his bag. After a long moment, listening to the sounds, the quiet, he dragged it across his blade.
Dull blade.
He had to make it sharper.
The strikes on his knife were sharp, jagged as he dragged the blade.
Shing.
Had to make it sharper. An extension of his own arm, his soul. He knew the drill. He'd been trained well.
The hilt digs into his leg as he watches as little pieces of silver glitter slip to the floor, Shaving his soul. Making it stronger. Not blunt. Not soft. Cutting away the baggage, covering the damage.
Sharper.
Something was flying around his head. A bug, he forgot which kind.
Buzzz.
He contemplated using the blade as a bug swatter, and then he changed his mind.
Buzzz.
The smell of metal was potent, but strangely appealing. Soft, gentle in his senses.
The flecks sparked some more.
Buzzz.
Sharper.
His weapons. They had no choice. They lived for the kill and nothing more. Hardened. Indifferent. Still, they could shine and look so beautiful. Deceitful. Exactly how they were created.
Buzzz.
Sharper.
In one swift movement, Leonardo launched an attack, slicing the bug in half.
He took a deep breath, wrinkled his nose, spat on the metal, polished it with an old rag and kept going.
Sharper.
He presses the cool, blunt edge to his forehead.
Sharper.
Because after all, Leonardo is a bit like a katana himself.
Ficlet.
What did you think?