Freed hands both rising for the pommel now, so natural, so smooth, it was like Kiriath machinery, as if he were machinery, a cunningly crafted clockwork Kiriath mannequin, built to complement the steel.
He felt the accustomed kiss of the grip on his palms, felt the grin on his face turn into a snarl.
Cold chime as the scabbard gave up its embrace.
And the Ravensfriend came out.

Richard K. Morgan

Mots clés sword-myth

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