When the axe fell, before it hit he knew he had mis-calculated. Reflexively his face did a little twitch and when the swing had swung a frustrated gah! sound came out. Little things, that meant a lot or a little depending on the time…or lack of time? He had a big bundle already chopped but winter was coming and his potbelly stove was hungry, as was the house prone to bleeding heat like a severed artery. Triage learned in the field was his school. He was also prone to bleeding things, mostly anger. It seemed to be a fuel he ran on- wether by design or because he’d never considered alternative fuel sources. There was a great pleasure in a well placed split through a nice piece of wood. Ironic in the sense he really loved nature, but his survival meant other things had to die so he could live-
Awethentic 