Bubba had taken Sherry back into the house, so I followed them.
The sword lay on the table. It wasn't fancy. There was no inlay, or jewels. The hilt was a simple basket. It was the deadliest thing I'd ever seen.
"May I hold it?" Sherry asked.
"Be careful," Bubba said, "it's heavier than it looks."
Sherry picked up the sword and held in with two hands like I'd shown her. She could just manage it with her small hands. I could see the sword shaking in her hands, but she tried a couple of blocks before she carefully put it down on the leather.
"Cool, Daddy."
"This is a different kind of sword than your Mom uses," Bubba picked it up one handed. He stood straight but with his knees bent, one arm behind him and whipped through a few passes. "I'm a little slow these days," he said and wrapped the blade up again and put it in the closet. "I don't want you playing with it," Bubba said, "but anytime you want to see it, just ask."
"Thanks, Daddy," Sherry hugged him, "thanks, Mom."