The heavy skeletons of our old enemies can always be melted down into the very tools that will feed our children in the coming spring.
The freezing morning air cut sharply through the heavy wool of Ethan Vance’s winter jacket as he stood near the snow covered woodpile behind his coastal cottage. He was splitting thick logs of pine with clean, powerful swings of his axe, his mind entirely at peace within the quiet rhythm of the physical labor. The sudden sound of crunching boots on the frozen gravel path made him pause, his dark eyes turning to see Callum, the local village blacksmith, walking hurriedly up the ridge with a thick leather tool roll slung across his shoulder.
"Ethan, I need your raw physical strength up on the outer boundary ridge right now," Callum said, his voice urgent an
