The axe bit into the log with a sound like a bone breaking. c***k.
Ezra straightened his back. His spine popped. A line of steam rose from his shoulders, dissolving into the grey air. The woodpile was waist-high. Enough for the night. Maybe enough for tomorrow.
He wiped his forehead. The sweat froze instantly on his brow. He pulled the wool cap lower. It smelled of woodsmoke and old oil.
Behind him, the house stood silent. No hum of the refrigerator. No buzz of the lights. Just the chimney puffing white smoke against the winter sky. The snow around the foundation was melted in a perfect circle, radiating heat from the stone walls.
He lifted the axe again. He swung.
Crack.
Another log split. Two pieces fell into the snow. They didn't bounce. They sank. The snow was deep. Knee-deep. It
