Gemotions

The workshop hummed with the electric buzz of the scroll saw. Eleanor, cheeks flushed, bounced on the balls of her feet. Today was the day! After years of meticulously crafting intricate wooden puzzles, her eight-year-old, Leo, had finally caught the bug. She'd found him this morning, already at the workbench, squinting at the blueprints for a tiny, wooden dragon.

"Ready to start, kiddo?" Eleanor beamed, her voice a little too loud. Leo, usually shy, just nodded, his eyes wide with a focused intensity. She ruffled his hair, the scent of sawdust and fresh-cut pine filling her own lungs. A thrill, a current of joyous anticipation, shivered down her spine.

He spent the whole afternoon at it. She showed him how to change the blade, how to hold the wood steady, how to follow the lines. He listened, utterly captivated, the tiny wooden dragon slowly taking shape. By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the workshop in fiery hues, Leo, covered in wood shavings, held up his finished creation. He held it up to the light, a small, proud smile on his face. Eleanor clapped, her heart swelling with something akin to bursting joy.