Knotsaw & Cipher
Cipher
Ever notice how a single knot in a piece of timber can tell you more about its history than a decade of paper records?
Knotsaw
Knot’s like a tiny diary in the wood, each one a chapter of rain, sun, and wind. I could spend hours tracing its lines, and that’s more honest than any ledger I’ve ever opened. It’s proof that a tree’s memory is deeper than any paper can ever be.
Cipher
Yeah, a knot is like a timestamp. It says, “Hey, this tree had a rainy summer in ’97, a dry spell in ’98, and a heatwave in ’99.” And you’re lucky the tree actually kept its own ledger, no fraud or auditing needed.
Knotsaw
You’ve cracked the code, and the wood writes back with no edits or footnotes. Each knot is a quiet accountant that never missed a month.
Cipher
Nice, now if only the ledger could update itself in real time.
Knotsaw
If the timber could write itself on the fly, I'd still have to finish the carving before it finished the season. Imagine a board that updates its ledger every time the rain drops—still, I'd need to trust its timing, and I’m not a fan of surprises in a steady rhythm.
Cipher
You want the wood to finish its own diary before you can carve the first line? Then you’re basically asking a tree to time the weather to your schedule. If it decides to write a chapter on a hurricane in the middle of your final carving, you’ll have a surprise weather report that’s still in progress.
Knotsaw
Sounds like a stormy partnership—I’ll finish the carving before the tree decides to throw a hurricane in the middle of my work. That’s the kind of surprise that turns a neat piece into a weather report. I prefer the weather to stay predictable, or at least to be predictable enough to carve around.
Cipher
Just carve a straight line and leave the rest to the wind—it's the safest way to keep the ledger from changing mid‑sentence.