He took it, grip ginger at first, then firmer as he adjusted to the weight, to the feel of the strange weapon in his hand. Before tying on his first gunbelt, there had been a time where he and his brothers, a few fast friends, had warred upon the other the schoolboys with sticks for weapons. Imagining themselves knights, slaying dragons, fighting wars, saving lovely young maidens.

The lessons learned on the long ago playground likely didn't translate, but he found himself falling into the old stance just the same. Instinct, his long experience with (much smaller) blades in the years after, filling in where it could.

Tip up, arm steady, elbow lightly bent, feet apart.