Let me tell you how much a knife likes a sleeve.
Every other moment of a knife's "life" it is in danger.
Its sharp edge could be... used, scraping away, another slice closer to being dulled.
It may meet water, painfully rusting as it falls into misuse.
It may be heated, feeling itself burn red hot as it sears close broken flesh. It may be broken, it may be dented, it may be pressed against the grindstone, it may be bound, welded, strapped to another object likely of greater lethality and it WILL feel pain!
But... in a sleeve, in a sheath, it is... comfortable.
It is warm, it is safe, it is dark and yet it is home, a home most knives will never know. A sleeve is a comfort to an object whose very purpose is to destroy, to hurt, to butcher and in the end to be thrown away.
