ONE HUNDRED NINETY-SIX: Flashes VIII
196
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Ignacio had left him with a knife. Søren wasn’t sure if it was to protect him or to keep him company while he waited here, flat on the floor, snugged between his tube-shaped sandbag and the barrier. Maybe when a person had several dozen knives on them they started to feel more like stickers or pieces of chewing gum than weapons. A friend is sad? Bored? Offer them one of your sharp things to brighten their day!
It was one of his nicer knives, too. Or one of his nicer-looking ones anyway. Ignacio’s gym supply was mostly made up of knives he didn’t mind ruining, so they tended to be battered. This one had a long double-edged blade polished to a mirror finish. Søren tilted it and noticed the way the light bounced off to shine on the rough fabric of the sandbag. A piece of shiny metal is a better Shaper than I am.
That was an exaggeration and a pointless thought. More important things were happening. Søren angled the blade so that he could see some of the fighters reflected in it as they closed in on Instructor Klein.
Amazing. They look amazing.
And it would have been completely unmanageable to be there in the middle of them. Figuring out where Finlay and Febri were moving would be impossible, and that was only two of the people involved.
What if they do it? What if we actually make it to the end today? I could get some help from—
The feeling of his sandbag being dragged away from him startled him so much that he gasped and sprang into a crouch, knife held up to defend himself.