    She looked at the sheathed knife resting on his boots, before levitating it up and pulling it out with her magic. It was a large, wicked-looking blade, more than half as long as her own leg. The shining silver metal practically glowed in the dim light of the forest. The back of the blade was serrated like a saw, and the blade itself looked sharp enough she could cut herself just by looking at it. Atchmon called it a knife, but to Rarity it was more like a shortsword. 