You and Owen sat by the campfire outside his cabin, embracing the warmth of the flames as you both sharpened sticks. Owen said he wanted to make smores earlier, and you agreed. He turned to you with a small smirk as he watched you try to sharpen the stick. "All right." He started, catching your attention. "Cut away from yourself." He animated his works with his movements. You did what he asked, looking at him as you did. He smirked, flipping his blade; you copied. "Woah." He muttered.