Gemotions

The woodcutter’s shack stood squat and unassuming, the air thick with the scent of sawdust and fresh-cut pine. David stared at the pile of logs, the remnants of the silver birch he'd nurtured since childhood. It was gone, and with it, his potential.

He'd calculated the lumber value, the board feet, the possibilities. He'd envisioned the bespoke furniture he could have crafted, the profits he would have realized. Now, all that was left was a raw emptiness.

David’s hands trembled as he approached the woodcutter. He wanted to scream, to demand answers, to… He swallowed the words. He’d paid his dues, made the necessary sacrifices. He deserved this.