The chipper

It wasn’t much of a hunt. They could deduce quite easily the way the creature had gone: the way that had yesterday been thick with trees, but today was only piles of sawdust and a woody smell and plaintive spaces where branches had been.

They couldn’t work out why it ate forests. It excreted as much as it ingested, sometimes in chips and sometimes dust and sometimes MDF, but never seeming to gain from the process. Some thought it pure malice; others (the sharp ones, most in the woodworking trade) thought it an excellent way to get something for nothing.

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