guns for hands

@Spectra This is what I'm trying to describe, lmao.

Years ago, a great tree fell in the forest that crowded the edge of the bay. The roots pulled up the earth with it, though the dirt has been long since washed away by the rain so that the bare-bones fingers of the ancient roots. The great trunk leans against the side of a still-living tree and a rock, propping it up off of the ground and leaving a considerable gap by the trunk of the still living tree. Over the years, moss grew up over the fallen tree, covering it and the surrounding area.

It was here that Aesop had decided to make his home, early on a misting morning. With diligence, he dug at the soft, cold earth beneath the eaves of the fallen tree, a perfect entrance to his new home. And so he was content to spend his day, digging into the hill that began to rise just where the tree had fallen.