Nine strikes and a few sparks. Thirteen strikes and a spark caught a little smoke, but I hurried and blew too much while jostling the needles. Focus, Gaspare. I felt the call deep within where my blood retreated to stay close to my heart. Focus. My head felt sluggish and my movements dragged with effort. Slowing my breathing I rearranged the needles on the bark and struck again--five strikes and the little spark became an ember. ...