Gemotions

He found the devastation at sunset. The setting sun cast long, accusing shadows across the empty space where the oak had stood, a sentinel of his childhood. A slow burn ignited inside him, spreading from his chest to the tips of his fingers. He imagined the logger, the one who'd wielded the saw, the one who'd dared to fell *his* tree.

A thin, cold smile stretched across his face. He'd find him. He knew the logging company. He knew their trucks, their schedule, their vulnerabilities. He'd make them pay for their carelessness. He wouldn't allow his childhood to be so easily erased.