Koda;
His axe comes down with a crack so sharp it echoes through the clearing.
Wood splits, bark flies, but my brother doesn't pause.
He places another log and studies himself.
Again, and again. He just keeps going, and as I watch him, I know this isn't just work.
Each strike is fueled by something hotter than anger. I can feel it from where I stand.
My arms are crossed as I watch him. Every… motion, every twitch, every crack.
His mother's appearance, just as he began to settle here, must have been a horrible blow.
Just when he was starting to rid himself of all the anger… she resurfaced.
I hate seeing him like this. It's disheartening that I don't know how to help him.
At times, I realise how much the roles of a father and an older brother blur into each other, but I can not step back because if our father won't be here for us, I'll need to step in for my brothers. All of them.
