The moon was a crescent, thin and sharp as the blade of a knife.

A man can own a woman or a man can own a knife, but no man can own both.

The man is as useless as nipples on a breastplate.

But have a care! It is a bitter blade, and steel serves only those that can wield it. It will cut your hand as willingly as aught else.

The moon is a silver pin-head vast, That holds the heaven's tent-hangings fast.

I'm just a little cold," said Knife, pulling the blanket closer about her shoulders.
Paul wrapped his free arm around her. "It's all right," he said. "I've got you."
"Yes," said Knife, smiling up at him. "You have.