Flashback ( PDFDrive )

“So?” Fitz asked as she handed him her last throwing star. “If my
throws were as perfect as yours, you’d never hear the end of it.”
“They’re nearly perfect,” Sandor corrected. “She’s still holding the
weapon by the wrong blade. You both are.”
Grizel threw her hands up. “Here we go.”
“Yes, here we go,” Sandor agreed. “If you want me to train them,
I’m going to teach proper technique.”
Fitz squinted at the four twisted blades of the throwing star in his
hand. “Aren’t they all the same?”
“YES!” Grizel told him, the same time Sandor said, “Absolutely
not!”
“Our weapons are handmade,” Sandor argued. “Of course there are
variations. One blade is always slightly lighter than the others, and
one is always slightly heavier, and whichever you choose to throw with
makes a difference, both in how the weapon spins, and how it slices
through the air.”
“I know he sounds logical,” Grizel told them. “But he’s talking
fractions of an ounce.”
“Fractions of an inch are the difference between a true aim and a
miss, aren’t they?” Sandor countered.
He handed Sophie another throwing star and asked her to pick the
lightest blade.
“Don’t feel bad,” Grizel told her when she guessed wrong. “No one
can feel what he’s talking about.”
“Those with proper training can,” Sandor insisted. “When I was in
charge of a squadron, I made them spend hours every day cleaning the
blades to learn their feel. And my soldiers had the highest accuracy
rate in the entire regiment.”