Heath regretted saying that the moment the words left his mouth, because he was now sitting on the floor, staring in shock at the pointed knife above his head. It was only seven or eight centimeters from his skull. That had been far too close.
"Far..." Farfetch'd lowered his head, not daring to look at Heath. That pointed knife had been in his claws just moments ago.
"It's fine, it's fine. But remember not to use a meat-cutting knife to chop ice next time. It's not suitable." Looking at the pointed knife above his head, Heath couldn't help swallowing again. This thing was far too lethal. It had lodged straight into a plastic bottle.
Still, seeing how ashamed Farfetch'd looked, Heath didn't get angry. Instead, he reached out and stroked Farfetch'd's head. The little fellow had actually used that sort of meat knife to chop a large block of ice. Heath had no idea what he'd been thinking. In the end, he hadn't kept a firm grip on it, and it had nearly stabbed Heath in the head.
It turned out that even a knife couldn't necessarily split a large block of ice easily, let alone one that wasn't specifically meant for cutting ice. Kitchen knives fell into very strict categories: there were knives for chopping bones, slicing meat, cutting vegetables, and so on. The kitchen knives used in most homes were relatively middle-of-the-road, suited to a bit of everything without being particularly specialized, though they were sufficient for home cooking.
If that knife had stabbed him in the head, disfigurement on the spot would have been unavoidable. If it lodged in his skull, that would really have been something.
Fortunately, Heath hadn't been quite that unlucky, but this also strengthened his conviction. This Lucky Potion was practically a lethal