Pruning Shear

Pruning Shear rests in the palm, its blade catching the pale light with a quiet, patient gleam. The steel is tempered to a whisper, the edge a thin crescent that seems to know which branch to spare. The handle is a smooth ash, worn to a soft burnish where fingers learn its grain, wrapped once in faded leather that bears the scent of rain and old gardens. Along the tang, runes tiny as moths’ wings are etched in neat, deliberate lines, a memory of a time when tools were blessed by gardeners who swore they could hear a plant’s true needs. It feels both cool and warm in your grip, as if it carries the breath of every hedge it has trimmed and every sapling it has steadied against a gust. When you lift it, there’s a gentle, almost musical click—a response from timber and alloy that says: we have work to do, and we will do it well. Lore whispers that it was forged in the shadow of a hidden conservatory, by a master who tended not only plants but the stories they grew. Supposedly the first owner could coax a wilting fern back to life with a careful prune and a whispered promise, a myth that clings to this blade like dew to leaf. Whether true or spun by tavern talk, the blade carries an air of reverence, a sense that cutting is a conversation rather than a conquest. In the game’s world, that conversation translates into real, practical usefulness. Pruning Shear isn’t just a pretty tool; it is a key to coaxing more from the living green. When you trim certain ornamental plants or shrubbery, the harvest yields aren’t merely cosmetic. Pruned flora can drop extra seeds, rare sap, or blooming fragments that feed your alchemy or carpentry pursuits, turning a routine foraging trip into a small rite of spring. It rewards patience and care, letting you shape a garden’s growth rather than merely scavenge its bounty. The heft and balance mean you can work through a long day of tending without losing feel for the plant’s pace, a subtle advantage when you’re racing to restore a grove before the festival crowd arrives. It isn’t flashy, but it reminds you that in a world full of bright flashes, steady hands still carve the path. The market hums with stories as you walk the docks and lanes toward Saddlebag Exchange, where traders barter under canvas and awnings that flap like green flags in a breeze. There, in a stall that smells of rain on leather and old oak, a seasoned dealer weighs the Pruning Shear in your palm, testing its heft against the day’s needs. The price skates around a few silver and copper, a fair note for a tool with both utility and tale. Barter becomes a dialogue: a bottle of botanist’s bloom dye, a handful of charted seeds, or a small trade for a map fragment to a hidden greenhouse can sweeten the deal. The exchange thrives because people believe tools deserve stories as much as they deserve use, and Pruning Shear fits that belief perfectly—quiet, dependable, and ready to make the garden speak.