I found it in the back yard. I turned over the spade and there it was. The stone was egg-shaped and it looked man-made. I dusted it off and held it in my hand.

…

The old man struck the flint with the hammer stone. With each blow a thin flake fell onto the ground. He finished the blade and then he bound it to the polished wood with a length of sinew. He hefted his new tool and smiled.