When it became obvious that Luna was well occupied with her sanding, Greg turned back to his own work. Soon he had all but forgotten that she was there as he got back into the rhythm of chisel and hammer.
Humming softly to himself, he followed the line of a stag's flank using only the image he held in his mind as a guide. The sharp vanilla scent of fresh cut oak mingled with the more mellow dustiness of the pine shavings he was crushing under foot as he shifted his body to give him the angle to draw the deer from what would become part of a head board.