They both weigh the same, and from experience, carrying a pound of either came with its own issues and work.
 
Claude was somewhat nervous as he made is way back to the house he had been at yesterday, this time his toolbox resting with the logs in the cart he was pulling along behind him. For some reason he couldn’t shake the idea that he had seen the man somewhere before and that it was for some important reason.
 
But work was work, and that’s really all that matter. So, he rested the cart in front of the house and knocked on the door, waiting for the butler to answer it once again.

The butler answered the door, even less enthused and shorter of words than last time.

Zechariah, on the other hand, was lounging in wait on a non-broken chair with a book in hand. The chair was across the room from the couch. Were a certain workman observant, he might notice discoloration in the wood from where the chair had previously sat ... right next to the couch.

Claude did take a small notice, but rather then give any sign that he did, the young male placed his toolbox there, nodded to the man in greeting before starting to bring in two logs at a time. Once he had ten logs in a pile next to the couch Claude wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, in his head working out the next step.

A younger Zechariah might have offered to help. Instead, he propped a foot on his knee and watched openly over his book.

The new position of the chair seemed to be quite aptly angled for that.

Feeling the eyes on his back, Claude looked over his shoulder at the man. “Is there an issue sir?”

“Just admiring broken things,” he said far too lightly, then looked back to his book.

Claude blinked, looked at him in confusion for a moment before turn back to work. To start he grabbed a couple of logs and started working out how he was going to cut it.

Zechariah kept the workman’s gaze until he broke it first. He turned his attention back to his book – a collection of Walt Whitman’s poems – and tried not to let his mind wander.

But he was so familiar...

It was odd having someone watch him but not criticize his work. It was almost... nice.

Claude wasted no time, once he had worked out the layout he pulled out his bricks and started cutting the logs to shape.

During an especially loud part, Zechariah suddenly asked:

“Are you from here?”