Gemotions

He could feel his skin prickle as Mr. Davis made his request. He’d always felt a bond to the ancient oak on the boundary. Now it was to be chopped down. His throat felt thick, and he found himself staring at his shoes. His shoulders tensed.

He was suddenly acutely aware of every creak of the floorboards, every rustle of leaves outside. The idea of the change, the disruption of the familiar, was like a physical blow. He made a noncommittal response, his voice sounding thin and reedy even to his own ears. He watched Mr. Davis walk away, a sense of mounting unease settling over him.