Fuck, it hurt.  He removed the glove to find a bloody mess.  It was leaking again.  The dressing was in tatters and stained crimson.  He'd figured it would be healed by now and it well should be had he not bothered, disturbed, stirred it like he tended to do.  A couple of days ago, he'd pinched his hand between the hammer and the nail bar.  It had given him the opportunity to pray, but not quite in the fashion his diety would have preferred.  To say it had smarted would be mild.  Now though, it screamed, if burning pain could scream, that is.

He knew that it would come back to haunt him, but he broke the resulting blood blister that night.  He couldn't leave it alone.  He had to fuck with it.  The original pain had gone.  But, as he was apt to do, fucked with it, broke it, and now it fucking burned!

He didn't have to work today.  It wasn't necessary.  It was the end of July and hot as Hades.  He didn't have to bring the firewood in from the bush today.  It could have waited.  The first snow was months away, and truth be known, he had enough to last through the next winter already.  This was his nature though.  He couldn't leave Well Enough all by itself.  Well Enough was just fine without his diddling. He had to fuck with Well Enough.

And now it fucking hurt.