Nyx
The old sheath let the smaller knife sink too far.
Nyx could still draw it. That was the problem.
She could draw it comfortably while standing in a workshop with nobody trying to hurt her. Then she would turn, reach at the angle her hand remembered, and catch the fastening instead of the grip.
The smith watched her fail on the third attempt.
"Again?"
"No. You saw it."
"I wanted to see whether you'd blame the leather."
"The leather isn't paying."
He took the sheath from her and set it beside the larger fittings salvaged from the broken weapon. Those pieces had survived. The blade had not.
Nyx had already received two explanations of why putting the old fittings around a new blade would cost more than she wanted.
She had not enjoyed the second explanation any more than the first.
