Sabers were held high, and wings were aflutter as both armies prepared for battle. Darrell Gene surveyed his handiwork as he used a whetstone to sharpen his pocket knife. He ran the blade along the rough surface until he was satisfied that it was ready. He had done this very thing a hundred times or more when he was preparing to cut something, and although the task was menial, he found it calming in a mundane sort of way. The rhythm of the steel scraping against the rock, the steady motion of his arm pushing the knife along and then pulling it back toward him soothed him. The process was almost as calming as actually using the knife to create shape and semblance where there was none. As a test, he ran the blade along one forearm and watched in satisfaction as the knife shaved the hair without so much as a snag. “Perfect.” He carefully selected a fresh block of wood and began to carve.He had never been much of a churchgoer, but all the recent talk about God and redemption had roused a certain curiosity in him.
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