A foreign tool was thrust into my hands, and I gripped it uneasily. Running my hand along its length, I felt as the cool wood tapered into a metal blade with a flat edge.

“This is a bark spud, or peeling iron. It’s used to skin bark from trees,” Lewis explained. “I want you to remove all the bark from the logs you cut, then come get me and we’ll move them to the workshop inside.”

I twisted the bark spud in my hands, trying to figure out how I would use it. Lewis released a heavy breath, and I heard his nails scrape along his scalp as he pulled at his hair.

“Hold it like a shovel. You’ve held a shovel before, yes?” I nodded my head, moving my left hand to the top of the shovel and my right underneath. “Good. Now, you want to scrape at the bark like you’re digging.”

Lewis roughly patted me on the back, throwing my upper body forward. I felt my mouth twisting in annoyance. “You’ll figure the rest out,” he said, dismissing himself to return inside.

Shaking my head in defeat, I turned to feel around for one of the logs scattered about. One was nearby, and I braced the bark spud’s blade on the top. Pressing down like I was going to dig, I cut into the wood. I winced as the tool sunk in too deep, cutting past the bark. Changing my angle, I slid it against the surface to keep from cutting too much off.

I wasn’t even sure why I had to skin these trees, or why I was just going along with it. Another question was why Lewis was letting a blind man do it. I couldn’t tell how much bark I cut off, or if I was scraping at already smooth wood. Surely, I was not fit for this job.

So many whys, though no answers accompanied them. These questions were only the small ones, and I avoided the others that filled my head.

To determine whether I was making any progress on the log, I bent down to run my hand over its length. My hand moved to find where bark was still present, and once the spots had been located, I stood to scrape at the fallen tree once again.

This process repeated, and I fell into a rhythm of bending and scraping. The bark was soft, sticking to the inner wood. No large pieces of it would fall off together, making the process slow. My lower back had begun to ache, and the heat of the day increased. No reprieve was given as the shadows from the stronghold’s walls moved to leave me exposed to the sun.

Dropping the peeling iron, I rolled the log over, feeling down its length to make sure there was no stray bark left over. I deemed it sufficient before moving to the next log.

“Why don’t you just burn it?” asked the pyromaniac as he sat on another log. His empty face rested on his chin, and his form was clear to me despite the world being dark.

“It’s wood,” I replied, not pausing my work. The scraping of the tool against the log’s bark grew loud, tugging the insides of my ears. “I can’t burn it.”

“Why not? You’re destroying it, aren’t you?” His questions were almost childlike in nature, and I wished I could ignore him.

“I’m not destroying it. I’m only… slimming it down.” A different way to describe what I was doing eluded me.

The pyromaniac leaned back, tilting his head up. “Isn’t that the same? You’re destroying a part of it.” I shook my head, pressing down harder.

“It's not the same. The removed parts are still intact. If I burn it, it’ll all disappear.”

He laughed, his skin stretching tight. “You’re wrong, wrong. The ashes will remain. Remain forever, even as your bones turn to dust.”

A loud crack rang in my ears, and I found that the tool in my hands was buried in the earth. My grip was tight, and it made my fingers feel numb. My face was unfeeling as well as I yanked the spud out of the dirt. Moving it back to the now split log, I ignored the damage I had wrought and scraped at the bark.

As I moved the tool, it almost felt as if I was scraping at my face, removing my features till blood poured out from open holes. My face would eventually heal, turning into the twin of the pyromaniac.

My working pace grew quicker as I moved from log to log, as my only goal was to finish this job as fast as possible. I focused [Enhanced Sense] on my hearing, letting the sounds of metal against wood and cracking bark scream in my head, drowning out all my other thoughts. If my ears had begun to bleed, I would have not been surprised.

I ran a shaky hand through my sweaty hair, then dropped the bark spud. All of the split logs were now barkless, and my head felt clear. The door to Lewis’s house beckoned, and I stepped inside to the welcome of shade.

I followed the sound of muttering, feeling my way past a door. Lewis sat on a chair inside a large room, his vague figure hunched over his hands. The smell of sawdust filled the space, and I could feel it against my skin.

“I’m done,” I told him, and he whipped his head around as he cursed.

“Damn, you scared me.” Lewis stood, moving to me. Shouldering past, he beckoned me to follow. “Well, if you’re done, let's move the wood inside.” Leaving the house once again, I stood behind him as he examined my work.

“You’ve done well. Some small pieces of bark are left here and there, but it's relatively smooth all-round.” I sensed him picking up one side of the log, and I took the hint, moving to pick up the other. With the way the weight felt so easy to lift, I knew that Lewis could most likely pick up the log by himself; it would have just been awkward to carry.

“Why not just leave them in a pile outside?” I asked as we maneuvered through the house, back to the room I had found Lewis in.

Lewis scoffed, then roughly explained. “Now that these logs are stripped of bark, they’re more susceptible to rain, rot, and insects. The next step is to cut them into timber, and that requires them to be sturdy.” We placed the log next to a wall, then returned outside to move the rest. Silence accompanied our work, and I chose not to break it by asking more questions.

The last log we moved was placed upon a table, and Lewis picked up a tool that was leaning against a wall. Focusing, I determined it was a handsaw, and Lewis gripped it tightly as he dragged the log closer to him.

“We’ll cut the logs into rectangles now. The pieces we need for what we build will come from those.” My brows furrowed, puzzled by his use of “we”.

Handsaw poised above the log, Lewis began to cut. I couldn’t tell exactly what he was doing, but it didn’t take long for him to finish. He had moved around the table, assuming different positions as he cut.

Breathing out, he put down his saw. “Done with that side. Here, come feel.” He gripped my arm with shocking quickness, moving to press it against the now smooth side of the log. It was a completely even cut, and I marveled at the straightness the side of the log now assumed.

“It’s very clean,” I murmured, and I could almost feel Lewis preen at the praise.

“Yes, it is. It has to be, or the end result would be poor.” The job was impressive, since as far as I knew, wood was cut with table saws and other machines back on Earth.

“How did you do it?” I asked as he moved to start another side.

“I’ve got a skill for it. It keeps any line I create steady; it’s a priceless tool.” It did sound convenient, and I wondered if a line could be applied to something other than wood. Perhaps a line to another place could be created, and a person would never lose their way.

Quickly, Lewis cut at the log until only a block of wood remained, its sides smooth as I felt them. He moved to pick up another log, easily carrying it by himself. Then, he moved the halves of the log I had botched, placing them on another table.

“You can practice on the one you fucked up,” Lewis said with a smirk in his voice, handing me an extra saw. “Just cut along its four sides in a straight line, and it should turn out okay.”

I nodded, following his directions. For a few moments, we worked in silence, before he spoke.

“How did you find your way here?” he asked. I couldn’t tell if he meant that in a literal sense, and was asking how I had traveled blind. I decided to just answer the question honestly.

“I didn’t find my way, really. I just came upon this place.” Lewis chuckled softly, and I was about to ask what was funny before he responded.

“It seems like it’s that way for everyone that ends up here. They didn’t have any direction, and Drixstead appeared in their path.”

“Almost like they were led here?” He huffed at my question, silent as he thought.

“Perhaps Fevdohr is guiding the people to where they can offer up their worship,” Lewis murmured, his words stirring the dust-filled air.

I was surprised, as he hadn’t seemed much of a religious person. Aleya had also said he hadn’t attended the prayer ceremony Davion had hosted.

“You believe in Fevdohr?” I asked, my curiosity guiding my actions.

“I do,” he stated, voice firm. “He is the god of this place, so I give my faith to him.” Lewis then growled, a soft noise of irritation. “I just do not give it to the man who calls himself a patriarch.”

It was interesting to see Lewis's difference in opinion, contrasting from Aleya’s heartfelt devotion to Davion. Lack of respect emanated from Lewis, and I could only wonder what caused his animosity. Instead, I chose to ask a question in a different direction.

“Why do you believe in Fevdohr?” Lewis did not respond, and I feared I had made him angry with me as well. I was uncertain if it was a more personal question to ask about one's faith.

Moving a completed piece of timber to the floor, Lewis finally answered. “It is not so much as belief in Fevdohr, as belief in a God. A source of faith seems needed by a human. Something to look towards and ask for guidance, for are we not all just wandering aimlessly?”

I pondered his words, his view new to me. It seemed Fevdohr was less important than something to give devotion to. Was a belief in something necessary to move forward? I could only reach into my mind to find something I believed in. There were no results, even with the priest sadly watching my search. What was the priest's reason for existence, if not to be ordained by a god? His creation by my broken mind almost seemed like hypocrisy.

“What of the existence of atheists?” I asked. From his view, wasn’t a man like me a deviant, different from the rest?

“Do atheists not believe in the existence of nothing? They must also rely on that absence of a deity, much like a person who relies on a God,” Lewis reasoned, and I felt torn by his attempt to cleanly explain such a thing.

Did I believe in the existence of nothing? It always seemed present to me, whether it be the black in front of my missing eyes or the hole that sometimes seemed to appear inside of my body. Was that belief, though? I could not define it, and the priest bowed his head as he sighed. His hands folded in prayer, and his murmured words almost seemed like they were meant for me.