the sun goes down like a photograph
Having stacked all of the wood already cut several days ago now with Margot, Marcus knew his father would be out cutting more. The light was nearly gone and the boy had to take a lantern with him. He clutched it tight with his gloved hand as he crunched across the snow to where he heard Noah working.
The evening air was cold enough to bite his fingers, even in gloves. Marcus hesitated at the edge of the lantern’s glow, where Noah's lantern met his own, watching his dad’s shadow rise and fall with each swing of the axe. He almost turned around. But the question had been building in his chest for days—pressing hard, like wings trying to unfurl. He was determined.
He stepped forward. “Dad?” The axe paused mid-swing, and Noah answered. Marcus swallowed. “What was it like? When you became Attuned?”
The evening air was cold enough to bite his fingers, even in gloves. Marcus hesitated at the edge of the lantern’s glow, where Noah's lantern met his own, watching his dad’s shadow rise and fall with each swing of the axe. He almost turned around. But the question had been building in his chest for days—pressing hard, like wings trying to unfurl. He was determined.
He stepped forward. “Dad?” The axe paused mid-swing, and Noah answered. Marcus swallowed. “What was it like? When you became Attuned?”
you try to stop time in the aftermath
