White sky. White water. Grass bleached white and waxen. You step forward and let the camp fade out of sight, out of mind, into the white expanse. You imagine pulling the landscape over you, a pale and prickly blanket against the still, iced air.
“So this is home,” a familiar voice breaks your communion. The word seems as foreign as the horizonless vista. You repeat it, watching it drift and dissipate in a plume of steamy breath.
“Father said to give you this.” Your sister steps round beside you, a single-edged sabre in her hand. “He says we’re not to go wandering unarmed. We don’t know what’s out there.”
“There’s nothing out there!” You mutter. “Nothing at all.” You take the shashka, running your fingers over the smooth, dark bird’s head of its handle. Its red veins gleam, stark against your pallid skin. You grasp it tightly, willing some of its realness into you, half fancying yourself fading into the endless white.
“Spring will come,” your sister says, turning to leave. “You’ll see.”
As if in affirmation a movement catches your eye. You glance up to see a great bird circling the Wild Fields, its dark plumage laced with red.
Broad-bladed yet wieldy, this simple yet beautifully crafted shashka brings stunning materials together into a formidable weapon.
Named for the Wild Fields of the Pontic Steppe, there is a certain wildness to its organic curves and dominant blade. With a pinned mahogany handle rather than a pommel, the design is blade-centric, designed for a fluid fighting style.
The hand-carved mahogany handle has been stained black and stripped back, allowing the material’s natural red veins to show through. The handle is secured via hollow brass pins, and topped with a brass ferule.
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