The free hand slowly crept up to the tear in the shirt and resumed a clawing at the shoulder of the trapped arm. His fingers clawed at his own flesh but the wound was changing to a deathly colour and the clawing only brought the relief of unconsciousness as the pain beat behind his eyes and jaw, and drummed in every joint. Blackness slugged his mind and his forehead fell with a crack against the log and the hand dropped away from his shoulder and his nails were clogged with his own flesh and blood. From the black abyss of unconsciousness arose an image of his own hand reaching into the split log to retrieve his wedge and then — the first wedge shot out and slithered through the dead leaves and his in­ward eye watched aghast as a split second telescoped into forever and the log slowly closed upon his arm even while he began to snatch it out.