Gemotions

He ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. His jaw was tight. The site was barren, exposed. He took a slow, deliberate breath, the air thick with the scent of sawdust and broken promises. He remembered the small sapling, its fragile promise of growth.

The survey marker, still there, mocking him with its precision. He read the numbers, memorizing them. He wouldn't let this go. He paced around the area, scanning the surrounding properties. He was watching.

His fingers itched, his muscles coiled, ready. The memory of the tree, its leaves rustling in the wind, a beacon for all who saw it, fueled the anger growing within him. He would find out why. He would.