Gemotions

The scent of sawdust and varnish filled the workshop, a scent that always grounded him. He watched young Ethan, the apprentice, try to replicate his favorite piece, his hands fumbling, his brow furrowed in concentration. It felt wrong, to watch his skills being duplicated.

He picked up a piece of timber, running his calloused fingers over its smooth surface. The feel of the wood was familiar, a comfort. He closed his eyes, remembering the first time he'd held a chisel. He had felt the world in his hands.

"Take your time," he said, his voice husky. "Feel the wood." He watched as the sunlight streamed into the workshop, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. Time. It was all about time.