Rikriiki and the Tailor

Rikriiki clenched her bill impatiently as the tailor’s wife tutted, picked out the last row of stitches, and began them again. If the young knight had known what frustrations would be involved in going to get a hole patched, she would have just learned to sew herself.
She noticed the tailor scrutinizing her left Talon. The artificial claws gleamed in the faint daylight. They hadn’t seen battle yet, but by God’s feathers, they soon would. Her heart raced at the thought.
"The stitching on these bracers is uneven," the tailor announced.
She’d had enough. "The stitching doesn’t need to be even!" she cried, raising her crest. "The blades need only be sharp, to spill the blood of our enemies!"
The tailor sniffed and picked up a needle. "And that’s why you’re a soldier, not a seamstress. Hold still.”