Gemotions

The workshop was a monument to the absent. Metal tools lay scattered, half-finished projects sat on benches, and the scent of wood shavings hung in the air. Marco surveyed the scene, his jaw tight. His mentor, Silas, had simply packed up and left. It was as if he’d vanished into thin air. A knot formed in his stomach.

He recalled the long days spent perfecting his craft, the shared lunches under the shade of the willow tree, the quiet understanding that passed between them. He felt a deep sense of abandonment. He wandered over to Silas’ workbench, his fingers tracing the worn surface. He had questions, so many questions. He felt the sting of tears prick his eyes. He slowly picked up a hammer, a familiar weight in his hand, and began to work.