Thwunk. Quiet. Thwunk.
He watched Hanna from the shadow of the cookhouse. A glass of lemonade, without ice, in his hand. That’s how she liked it.
With each swing of the axe, she sent wood flying. Methodically stopping to stack the split pieces before settling the next chunk of wood in place.
“Why aren’t you using the splitter?”
Wiping the sweat from her brow, Hanna gave him a sarcastic look with a lopsided grin.
“And miss working off some steam?”
Tal wondered what had ticked her off. He hoped it wasn’t him.
Stepping closer, he offered her the glass.