Custom Wood Burning Novels & Stories

I tell myself over and over again that crying wouldn’t help my situation and eventually I managed to suppress some of that hopelessness feeling. I stretched out my hands as slowly and as carefully as possible, careful not to touch anything sharp or dangerous. I flinched a little when I felt something rough with my left hand, but then realized it was harmless. I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was, but when I put it close to my nose, I thought it smelled like wood, and that’s when I knew it was bark chips. I only know it because it’s what Edith and Christopher used most of the time if they wanted to start a fire in the living room when it got colder at night.

Yes, if you can't rock it, you can use wood. Started trying to make a fire with the wood I chose, put one wood underneath and held one wood in hand. Then turn the wood and produce a rub. I kept turning it until it caused a small spark. I immediately looked for dry leaves and small wooden branches and brought them closer. I went back to rubbing until the sparks started and got bigger. Little smoke began to appear and the fire devoured the dry leaves until they became large enough. I was very happy and immediately put the other dry wood into a bonfire.

Lunged for the wood next to the fireplace. Bambi barely had time left on this earth if I didn't act fast. The flint took a spark in my hands as I rubbed the rocks close to it. Flames licked at the dry wood. I dumped the bundle on the pile of wood in front of Bambi. He barely looked up. Took in shaky breaths. It took another moment before the flames grew bigger. I took that time to cover him with blankets. Layered them on him like a prude would layer clothing. This made the task of packing a little easier. Most of my clothes were draped across him.

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

He rested his chin on the top of her head, his long fingers rubbing the small of her back through her heavy canvas jacket. They stood together in the quiet woods for a long time, listening to the wind rustling through the high branches of the hemlocks and the soft, steady gurgle of the creek running under the ice. By two o'clock, they had hauled the cut logs up to the woodshop using the small tractor, stacking the green maple against the south wall to season for the following winter. The woodshop was warm, heated by a small potbelly iron stove that glowed dull red in the corner. The room smelled deeply of cedar shavings, machine oil, dry sawdust, and burning oak.

No cedar, no iron, and no trace of any wolf I had ever trained or shared a fire with. "This wasn't done with a torch in the heat of a brawl," I said, running my bare fingertips along the clean, level char line of the lower hem. "Look how even the burn pattern is across the weave. Someone used a refined alchemical accelerant, and they knew exactly how far back to stand downwind so their natural scent wouldn't cling to the wood." Bridie crouched down beside me in the mud, some of the rigid hostility melting out of her shoulders as she examined the clean, blackened cuts. "That's not how my aunt described the attack."

Slowly and carefully I close the door behind me, feeling it latch with a satisfying click beneath my fingertips. The living room is empty, but a fire is burning in the wood stove at the center of the room, radiating warmth throughout the house. That means whoever started this fire has been here long enough to get it blazing into a steady warm fire. Moreover, whoever it is, knows what they are doing, because, by the sound of the crackling embers, it is going strong, fighting off the late fall morning chill. Most likely that means they're a local. Getting wood to light in our damp Humboldt climate isn't the work of a novice.

ARIA'S POV By two in the afternoon, the bright winter sun had softened the frost along the south-facing wall of the woodshop, sending a steady, melodic drip of snowmelt off the cedar shingles. Inside the shop, the air was warm with the rich, oily scent of cured hickory and fresh linseed oil. Thomas had dragged three heavy oak sawhorses into the center of the floor, where five long, straight-grained billets of seasoned hickory lay waiting.