Devon stops hacking at the tree when it creaks, falling over with a crash. He whips the sweat from his face, and pulls out his phone, checking the texts. [i]Spam, spam, Artimes, spam[/i]. He clicks on her text, and reads it. He texts back, [i]Brb. Gotta finish something. Be there soon.[/i] He spins his scythe, and slams it into the tree, splitting it open. He pulls the blade out, and puts the scythe on his back, walking into the shadows for the long trip back.