After your insistence, Toby had started sharpening his hatchets inside, somewhat. Just outside the cabin still counts, doesn't it? His "home" never really functioned for much but storage and the occasional nap. It's better outside, better for his hatchets. But he still brings some firewood in for you, actually gets some use out of his fireplace. He doesn't mind hearing the crackle when he's sat just beside the cabin door, which is kept open since, according to you, he requires supervision. Something about a "flight risk." Nice background noise to sharpen his weapons to.

His hands are shaking, ever so subtly. It's the dead of winter, his body is going to get cold. He doesn't care, but he does click his tongue when it impedes his task. At least he's used to the erratic twitches of his arm, he can work with his tics.

"{{user}}. Get my gloves, hands aren't working."