Sweat drenches my brow while a smile spreads across my face. I laugh as wood splinters and trunk creaks, the marked tree soon falling in a shower of autumnal leaves and sticks.


    Resting the lumber axe on my shoulder, I idly eye the fallen tree while slowly circling its length. It''s odd, you know? How much work I''ve been doing these past few months, that is. I''ve been so busy I''ve had barely any time to myself let alone any to spend with Sticks and Bear!


    Something does feel a bit off with the work, though. Take, as an example, the tree I just fell. I''ve lost count of all the trees I''ve chopped and, in doing so, have made a sizable dent in the nearby Hading outskirts. And yet...


    I''m not really sure what Dad needs all this wood for; it''s not like we need to expand the house or anything, and we''ve got more than enough firewood at this point. Heck, we might even have enough to last us till this time next year!


    Which leaves me wondering why he wants me to go out, mark trees, chop them, and then transport them all the way back to the house. If it weren’t for the lack of smoke on Dad’s lips, I’d have thought he was in the middle of one of his episodes or something.


    But hey, I''m certainly not complaining! If it means getting out of the house, I don''t really care what I''m doing. Besides, I grin as I slip the axe into my belt and crouch before the log, it''s a good chance to work on my hamr!


    Fingers wrap around the trunk as I dig my heels into the earth. Wood groans as I grit my teeth, the weight pulling against my might even as I push it ever-higher. The bark clears the dirt and rises a half-inch into the air before it goes no further.


    With a great huff and a fierce scowl, I''m forced to drop the log. It falls to the ground with a heavy thump, leaving my hands red and my clothes covered in tree stuff.


    Damn, not quite strong enough just yet. I''ll get there, though! One of these days, not only will I carry a log with ease, but I''ll throw it too! Just like in the raiding trials, I''ll be throwing logs all the way across Asvir''s bay.


    I can see it now, ''Halla Logthrow... er''


    ...Yeah, I dunno about that kenning. Certainly no ''Freedfire'' or ''Blackhand'', that''s for sure. I really don''t want a stupid kenning, people like that are always weirdos. Like, there''s a guy called ''Kurt Frogtongue'' in Asvir and he''s got a really long tongue. Kinda freaky, if you ask me. Which you should, because I''m very good at answering questions. And asking them too!


    Still, I''ve gotta get this tree all the way back to the house. This is probably the worst part of this whole ordeal Dad''s had me doing recently, the return. It''s just so annoying having to drag this damned log and have its branches always getting caught on things. Really ticks me off.


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    Which is why I''ve developed a little bit of a trick.


    Grinning, I roll up my sleeves, hold out my hands, and take a deep breath. According to Dad, any motion that is practiced to a certain degree can become what''s called a ''trick.'' Tricks are how you use ordstirr in ways other than brute force blows. The better one gets at any given trick, the less ordstirr is needed to see it through.


    Regardless, as I draw upon the fire lurking just beneath my skin, the faint taste of ash lingers at the back of my throat. Acquiring a kunna always leaves some kind of mark on its wielder and I am no different. Ever since I stuck my head in that hearthpit and swallowed down all the fire I could, a small cloud of embers leaves my lips whenever I focus my power, the ashen mass soon drifting free in the wind.


    Fire flickers to life between my palms as sparks ignite by my will. Inhale fresh air, exhale embers; inhale, exhale, a pattern to follow as I muster up my might alongside my sharpening focus.


    Conjuring flame is a simple matter; all one needs is a fire kunna, sufficient willpower, and often a subtle flick of the wrist to get things going. What isn''t so simple is when you try to do anything beyond a mere feasting trick.


    Fire is difficult to control. Fire is fleeting and fragile, and can be put out by any number of means. Throwing around a ball of fire on its own won''t do anything, the most it''ll do is maybe set something on fire. To really get the explosions and blasts I''m looking for, I need to give it some real oomph to actually see any results.


    Which means using ordstirr.


    Using ordstirr... It always puts a smile on my face. It''s just such a good feeling, you know? The wave of power as you draw upon your own glory to smack some idiot moron straight into next week?


    There’s nothing quite like it.


    An ember-laden whistle leaves my lips as I smile. Reaching deep inside, eighteen strands of ordstirr separate from my soul loom and wind their way through my body. Without drawing upon my Aspects, I can only muster thirty-six separate strands of ordstirr to wield. Pitiful, I know, but it’s enough to get me through the day.


    I laugh as an arc of crimson fire bursts free from my hand. The air sizzles as the wave flies, the heat-born tongues lashing out at all in its way. It sears through the branches, carving a clean, smooth path through the autumn leaves.


    A second use of that trick sees the other side cleared of twigs, branches, and the ever-so-annoying leaves while also leaving me empty of ready ordstirr. I grimace, my readily-available power now slipping through my fingers like so much dust on the wind. No real biggie, of course, I can draw on my Aspects whenever I need to. And ordstirr returns swiftly when one has a chance to rest—not so much for Aspects, of course, that takes days to happen.


    I''m not really sure what to call this trick yet, but I''ll need to come up with something if I want to take it any further than its current state. You can''t refine something without a name, after all, and it''s a pretty rough trick. Eighteen strands of ordstirr is a high price to pay for a fighting trick, but less so for a working trick. Really, it''s the sort of thing that you wouldn''t want to pull out on the battlefield unless things got dire.


    ...Man, it''s been a bit since I last fought anything, huh?


    My fingers twitch. My foot taps. My pulse quickens.


    I really should see if there''s anyone down for a scrap or two, I''m getting a bit antsy just thinking about it.