The Carving

The slight curves, subtle and graceful, leapt from the bone as he carved. It was an old hobby, and the smell of the well-oiled tools in their leather satchel was a touch of comfort, a touch of home, even on campaign. Several other pieces in various stages of completion, one of expensive ivory from far to the south, lined the table ahead of him, where the lamplight flickered over them. The wings of a carved bird cast a particularly fearsome shadow. He smiled, shaving off another thin slice from the piece in hand. It would be a whale, he thought.