Sword & Knotsaw
Knotsaw
I was tracing the grain of a solid oak, wondering how that rhythm could become the spine of a sword handle. Have you ever seen a blade that feels more like a living story than a weapon?
Sword
It’s a thing of beauty, really—when the wood sings in rhythm with the steel, the whole blade feels like a tale you can hold. I’ve seen a few, each one a living story more than a mere weapon.
Knotsaw
Sounds like the kind of piece that’d make the wood itself sigh in approval. It’s the quiet moments in the workshop where the grain whispers its own legend before you set the blade. Keep carving, and let that rhythm guide your hand.
Sword
I hear that quiet sigh, and it steadies my hand. The grain guides every cut, and I let it speak before I finish the blade. That's how a sword can become a living story.
Knotsaw
If the grain’s telling you a story, make sure it doesn’t get bored and wander off into the next piece.
Sword
I keep my focus steady, the grain is a trusted guide. It never wanders—its story stays with the blade.
Knotsaw
So the blade keeps its own diary, written in rings instead of ink. Keep listening.
Sword
The rings reply in quiet thumps. I keep listening, and the blade writes its own story with every strike.
Knotsaw
You hear the wood’s heartbeat, so you just keep the rhythm—no need for fancy words, just the steady thump of the grain and a steady hand.