Custom Wood Burning Novels & Stories

My breath hitches and something flutters in my stomach. He burns short pieces of wood which he snaps off from the big branches he returned with. Slowly, the fire builds up and larger pieces of wood enters it making it burn with slight cracking and roaring sounds. I scoot a little closer to the fire and warm my hands. If I move a little closer, I'll singe the fine hairs on my knuckles. Kyan begins to push the big branches into the soft earth mounting them like poles so they meet at a point "What are you doing?" I dare to ask.

He says, pointing at the gas grill. “Don’t insult me. I am not cooking the expensive meat I got over a freaken gas fire. I got wood, we are doing this the old fashion way.” I tell him. He chuckles and lifts his heads in the air as if to say that he is sorry for even suggesting it, and he should be. Freaken gas. I know we have gotten fancy and what not, but nothing beats making fillet over a fire made of wood. It just adds that extra bit of smoky flavor that is not possible when you make a fire with gas.

His father thanked me profusely no matter how much I tried to tell him I really didn't do anything outstanding, it was sheer luck that he happened to come across the pack border and I happened to be there although I'm sure the guys would have let them keep moving without revealing themselves once they showed no threat to the pack and did not cross the border but I am happy that Beau finally has his true home and father. I need to get some logs for fire wood, I head out back with my axe and chop a few branches off some trees, I am not one for deforestation so I will make a note to get myself some coal for my fire place, I get back to the house and put the wood into the fireplace and light the

The fire is already lit and gives off a calming warmth and ambience to the space. Up above are industrial metal beams and wood beams, the contrast is striking and impressive. “This is amazing,” I say as I move through the space admiring the intricate objects of art and wood carvings. “Did you design this yourself or did you have someone help?” He gives me a beautiful smile. God the man is drop dead gorgeous and he knows it. “I had someone assist, but mostly it’s all on me. I love to collect pieces of art, mostly from unknown artists on their way up. I like to support and help them on their way,” he tells me as I pick up a wood carved Ballerina being held high in the air by her male dance par

The flame revealed a great room straight out of a Nordic fairytale: vaulted cedar ceilings, a stone fireplace big enough to park a Mini Cooper in, and floor-to-ceiling windows currently being pummeled by the storm. While I rummaged through the gourmet pantry (stocked with enough truffle oil and aged balsamic to survive several sieges), Damien built the fire with military precision birch bark first, then kindling arranged in a precise lattice, finally the logs positioned for optimal airflow. "Your survival skills are terrifying," I observed as the flames roared to life, casting dancing shadows across his sharp features. He dusted off his hands, the firelight catching the platinum of his weddi

"So what do we do? Burn the furniture?" "No," Cale said, looking at the chairs. "The furniture is ergonomic. We go to the beach." "The beach?" "Driftwood," Cale explained. "The storm last week deposited significant debris on the shoreline. It is seasoned by the salt. It burns hot. Also, the colors in the flame are... interesting." "Sodium chloride combustion," Elion smiled. "You just want to see the blue fire." "Blue fire is aesthetically pleasing. And efficient."

It looks like a cloud. And in the center of the room... A crib. It isn't a store-bought crib. It isn't sleek or modern or cold like everything else in this house. It is wood. Dark, rich walnut. Hand-carved. I walk toward it. My legs feel weak. I run my hand along the rail. The wood is smooth as glass. It has been sanded, polished, oiled. I look at the carvings. They are intricate. Detailed. Vines. Leaves. Wolves.

Smoke curled around a massive stone chimney, the smell of pinewood burning a warm, earthy smell. Inside, it was a cathedral to the wild. The ceiling soared, supported by massive, rough-hewn timber beams that still bore the marks of the adze that had shaped them. A monumental stone fireplace occupied one whole wall, its mouth wide enough to stand inside, and it now held a roaring fire that sent flickering, leaping shadows of warmth and light dancing around the room. The furniture was solid, built for comfort and durability: plush leather armchairs softened by generations of use, thick wool blankets in navy and crimson stripes, and tables of solid, battered oak.

I wish him luck as my cub will likely eat him alive. I’m not the only one my mate has trouble saying no to. My son has every model of fire truck in the state of Oregon I think, and Slade spends some of his free time, making my baby wooden roads he hand paints, and carves himself. Woodworking is a talent I didn’t know my mate possessed like his grandfather before him. It touches my heart every time and Gauge’s face lights up when Slade brings him a new bridge or piece of highway to add to his collection.

Determined, he cautiously approached the hearth, his steps cautious yet resolute. Reaching out, Jake's hands fumbled in the darkness, seeking the much-needed firewood to revive the dwindling flames. His fingers brushed against rough edges, and a sense of relief washed over him as he discovered a few scattered pieces beside the fireplace. Grasping them firmly, he carefully arranged the wood, ensuring they would catch fire and cast light upon the cabin's secrets.