(--)
Ithiel is by me!
She did not ask many questions, Ithiel noticed, nor was she prone to speaking at length. Both of these traits were ones he appreciated -- Myrika was quite different -- where his red-haired cousin preferred to fill the silence with anything and everything. The dust-colored hybrid peered toward her as she took the knife, his crimson eyes appraising her inspection and finally her grip. Her look was met with a shake of his head, though it was not unkindly.
The granite-furred coyote stepped forward and gingerly took the knife back from her, reversing it in her hand so the blade was almost parallel to her forearm. You hold it backwards at first. When you grip forward, you can stab and slice with better accuracy, he told her, but hold like this, and you strike with more power. You are no good now, so you want power, not accuracy. He moved her arm up and down, showing her she could slash both ways. Now, when you strike, you can come up, slice, then come back down, slice. Stabbing, too, but slicing is better with this grip.
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