Gemotions

The workshop was cold, the air thick with the scent of sawdust and abandonment. Leo gripped his chisel, the familiar weight a small comfort against the unsettling weight in his gut. His mentor, old Silas, was gone. His shed, always a sanctuary of creation and shared wisdom, was now silent, the tools neatly arranged but unused. A handwritten sign taped to the door simply read: "Gone Fishing."

He ran a hand over the smooth, polished wood of his unfinished project, a small carving Silas had been helping him with. He felt a creeping sense of unease. He had a million questions, and suddenly no one to ask them to. He’d planned to show Silas the final piece next week. The thought of finishing it alone, without his mentor’s approval, made his stomach twist.