Totem, Blade, Foundation, Rifle, Infant

He spit on the wood to make it shine, each imperfection smoothed by his sharpened blade. A loaded rifle leaned against the wooden chair.   Patiently, he whittled a totem of memories.  Each design would trace the past and whisper the future—some would say a family history.  But he knew it told a story much deeper. A story that would shake the foundation of the forest town. He continued shaping the fat cheeks of an infant.

Patiently she pulled herself up to the highest limb of the forest pine, smelling sap and pine needles in one breath. Across the forest she could see the fire—an inferno set to destroy the small town and everyone in it.