The giant yearling's jaw is set into a hard line, each muscle of his body tensed in concentration. Before him lies a small fragment of reindeer antler, a groove carved painstakingly into one end by his dragon's claw. It is a handle, a perfect hilt to house a blade, and he holds it beneath one hoof as Vérzés tries desperately to fit a sharpened stone into the groove. The final piece of the duo's efforts; the cherry on top of a murderous cake.

The colt had wanted a knife, to aid him in his future endeavours. Of course, he is confident in the strength of his body and the power of his dragon, but there is a certain allure in the use of a weapon, something to slice the flesh and drag out screams like a chorus of angels. His teeth and hooves can bruise, but can't draw blood. So he set about making himself a knife; only a small one, light enough to carry and wield with ease. For the hilt he came across a half-eaten reindeer carcass, the antlers still attached and strips of flesh hanging from them like eerie worms. With Vérzés' help, he snapped off a small fragment of antler and cleaned it of excess skin, a piece just long enough for him to hold it in his mouth, secured between his teeth. He found it rather slippery, though, so had Vérzés wind strips of peeled reindeer hide around it with his dextrous fingers and stick it in place with tree-sap, to make a firm grip. Then the ruby dragon used his razor-sharp claws to cut a groove into one end of the antler, for the knife itself to nestle in. It had been sweaty, tiring work, but worth it, because all that remained was the crowning glory of colt and dragon's mutual invention; a blade.

They came to the far north, where they selected several sharp rocks and sharpened them further with Vérzés' claws and another stone. But here is where they hit a snag - the stone simply would not stay in the groove. It simply wobbled and fell out, and even using strips of reindeer hide to hold it in place didn't work. Frustration bubbles beneath Volterra's flesh and he feels his temper rising, a feral growl erupting from his jaws as he kicks viciously out at a nearby boulder. The boulder flies through the air, landing with a satisfying thump in the snow nearby, leaving the colt's hoof sore and aching but strangely satisfied, as he always does when he kicks something.

"Why won't it work," growls the monolith, mentally demanding that Vérzés try again to fit the stone into the hilt. He will not give up.