Lemm doesn't know much about Nails, neither wielding nor forging. Weaponry is somewhat of his weak spot, something thought of in the abstract in terms of how it affects a certain piece of history. Knowing a warrior picked a javelin over a club tells him enough without having to know what it was made of or how well-balanced it is or the proper way to toss a javelin without it going wide.

He knew the Knight got their Nail fixed, that he noticed. He hadn't thought...

He hadn't looked at it, not really, it was just an occasional blur of pale metal making a racket or being swung at things in the Knight's hand. He hadn't been interested.

Lemm studies the patterning and eyes the edges with no real understanding of what he's looking for. He finds it anyway. A fool could look at this Nail and know it was special. He leans a little closer and very lightly runs a claw across some of the detail on the flat of the blade, wary of how reverently the Knight is holding it.

"Well," he says at last, "he managed it, then."

Lemm takes his hand back, tucks it under his chin, and considers whether or not this is the kind of thing that'd come across wrong. With a glance up from the Nail to its wielder, he gets the feeling they'll understand.

Nevertheless his voice is small and uncertain. "He wasn't very well," he murmurs. "Down here. It's good to hear he's - that he - you've met him elsewhere."