The design was good, he reckoned. It was saber-hilt-ish where he would have held it while hiking (and in his head, where he'd hold it while fighting off the forces of evil.) At the top of the walking stick (but the bottom, if one were to brandish the stick as a weapon, holding the 'hilt' of the light saber...) things became a little more wizard's-staff-esque, flaring out into something that looked a bit like flame. JJ had a notion to add a bike grip to a portion of the shaft, at a comfortable distance from the part which would forever be the saber hilt, to him, which would be the perfect distance for him to hold it two-handed like a bo-staff. (why would he want to do that? well -- for defence, of course! Not that he was trained in any form of martial arts... but he'd seen his share of kung fu movies.) Anyways, it seemed like a good idea. 

He had shown one of the marginally-older-than-the-campers junior counsellors (Jenny? He thought it was Jenny) his design for the carvings, which had received a noncommittal nod and shrug from maybe-Jenny. JJ didn't think she understood what he was trying to do, and how epic it was. the 'blade' of the saber. The flames. The buttons within easy reach of the hilt's handle. All very Darth Vader. But to maybe-Jenny, I'm sure it was all just a geeky walking stick. But nevertheless, she went to the workbench and got a whittling knife for JJ. Gave him 3.5 seconds of a 'don't do this' talk about sharps safety, and sent him on his way. 

How hard could it be? He started with the grip. The 'hilt.' This went well. JJ even managed to add what looked and felt like leather wrappings, carved into the hilt. Then he began carving the buttons and various controls for the 'saber.' He had read some of the Star Wars books. He knew. blade length. blade density. All things a growing Jedi needed. But carving the buttons was harder. It meant using the tip, and gouging into the wood, and then smoothing out the cuts with the round shoulder of the blade. He was holding his tongue between his teeth, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, carving a very important bit of the crystal power display, when the blade slipped, and suddenly, he was not an apprentice Jedi, but a kid at camp, far from home, with a jack-knife blade lodged in the soft tissue between his left thumb and index finger. 

"Oh." He pulled it out. It throbbed. "Oh, balls." Blood pooled. Thick, dark crimson. It dripped, down onto his shorts, the stick, his arm. He held his hand up, partly because he knew that elevating the injury would make it bleed less... and also in the universal language of 'I have a question, teacher!' His face was going white, and he felt a little funny in his tummy, even as the blood dripped from his elevated hand onto his shoulder, and his face...