And still the box is not

Birds were the easiest to carve, they were his favorite. Gliding his knife across the grain of the wood, marking out feathers, it was the few times he could put his mind at ease. He could have that little piece of freedom, right in the palm of his hands. He could give it to the other kids, too. A piece of the sky, a bit of freedom. And they cherished it, he soaked in their laughs, their smiles, and their tight, suffocating hugs when he gifted them. Wolfwood could spend forever carving at small pieces of wood, if it meant that the kids were happy.(Or, Wolfwood carves birds out of wood and he teaches Vash.)