A man was splitting firewood. But not like any groundskeeper she'd ever seen. He was shirtless, his skin the color of rain-darkened bark, every muscle moving in deliberate, hydraulic sequence. Dark hair clung to his brow. His jaw was set with a concentration that had nothing to do with mindfulness and everything to do with physics. When the axe bit through the log— crack —a pulse of something hot and utterly non-Zen shot through Veronica's chest.
In the sharp, clean crack of an axe meeting wood—and something inside her finally breaking open. -VRBangers- Veronica Leal - Zen Getaway
"Whatever the forest gives me. And maybe some steak I have hidden in a freezer Bodhi doesn't know about." A man was splitting firewood
"Trail ends past here," he said. His voice was low, roughened by something other than chanting. "Mudslide took the bridge last week." Dark hair clung to his brow