Luke finished splitting the last log, tossing the two pieces to the woodpile. He never understood how they went through so much wood, but it seemed that there was always wood to chop. Luke didn't mind, though. Given the choice, he would always choose har work over sitting around. His shirt was still hung on the porch rail and for a minute, he too just looked around at the farm, as the Georgia sun shone down on him. He spotted Bo a distance off by the fence he had been working on and, grabbing his shirt, tugged it on as he walked over to his cousin, normally perpetual motion, and put a hand on his shoulder, nodding as he looked out over the farm, not saying anything, knowing with Bo there was no need to.