A Firm Grip on the Handle

My paws tightened. The saw in my grip had weight to it, real and solid. I blinked and leaned forward from the glossy paper page, hearing a soft rustle beneath my feet. I pressed the tip of the chainsaw blade gently against the bold orange letters printed beside me. A tiny crease formed in the paper under the bar. Everything was still and quiet. I settled my stance right by the timber logo, holding the tool steady.