After a few minutes sitting quietly by the water's edge, Athan let himself breathe.

  The cool mist from the waterfall brushed against his skin, easing the heat from the long day's labor. His muscles still ached—throbbing lightly in his arms and back—but it was a good kind of tired.

  The light had shifted while he sat near the waterfall—longer, softer now, tinged with the warm hues of late afternoon sliding toward evening.

  The air was cooler too, carrying the faint scent of smoke and roasting roots.

  It was getting close to mealtime.

  The girls had likely started preparing the evening meal by now.

  He dried off his hands against his tunic, grabbed the empty wheelbarrow, and steered it back toward the main clearing, leaving it neatly stacked besides de brick shelter.

  He dried his hands on his tunic, put his tools inside the wheelbarrow, then grabbed it and steered it back toward the main clearing, leaving it neatly stacked beside the brick shelter.

  The present heart of the village was busier now.

  Laughter floated on the air, light and tired.

  The steady clatter of bowls and wooden utensils drifted from the open space near the shelter kitchens.

  As Athan approached, he spotted them—Lara, Kali bustling around the table and the cooking pot.

  Lara stood at the table, cutting strips of roasted root with a sharpened stone blade, while Kali moved the table and the cooking pot, carrying handfuls of cut greens and herbs they had gathered earlier.

  No one had to ask.

  Athan slipped into the flow naturally.

  He moved to an open spot near the tables, nodded once to Lara—who flashed him a quick smile without pausing in her cutting—and grabbed a basket of washed roots waiting to be peeled.

  He worked quietly, hands steady, letting the smells and sounds of the evening sink into him.

  The scent of bowling meat hung thick in the air now, mingling with the sharper smells of herbs and earth.

  The fires burned low and steady, casting long shadows across the clearing.

  This was life.

  Simple.

  True.

  Built with their own hands.

  As Athan peeled and sorted, he listened to the easy rhythm of the village settling down for the night—the low hum of voices, the occasional splash of water as someone washed their hands. A habit that they seams to had copied from him.

  The stars would be out soon.

  The fires would burn through the evening.

  After a while, Lara straightened from her work, wiping her hands on her tunic.

  "Meal's ready," she called out, her voice carrying easily over the clearing.

  At her words, the villagers gathered quickly, forming the familiar long line near the tables to be served.

  One by one, each person filled their bowl—roasted roots, fresh greens, slices of meat simmered in broth.

  Once everyone was seated, bowls in hand, the meal officially began.

  Athan found a spot near the fire, settling down with Lara and Kali close by.They ate slowly, sharing quiet conversation about their day—about the progress on the bricks, the weaving of the new fabrics, the strength of the fresh-built structures.

  Laughter rose here and there from other small groups, and the air buzzed with a contented tiredness, a soft, collective pride.

  When the meal was finished, the villagers slowly drifted back into their evening routines.Some repaired tools, others sharpened knives, a few simply lounged near the fire, enjoying the growing coolness of the night.

  Athan stayed where he was, pulling a piece of wood from beside his seat.

  He turned it in his hands for a moment, then took out his carving knife and began whittling quietly—slow, careful strokes, shaving thin curls of wood into his lap.

  He wasn't in a rush.

  The shape he had in mind wasn't clear yet.

  And it wouldn't be finished tonight.

  But that was fine.

  Some things, like villages and dreams, needed time to take form.

  And Athan had all the time he needed.

  -------------------------

  The night had passed quietly.

  The fire had burned low sometime after midnight, its last embers fading beneath the ash.

  Soft snores, shifting bodies, and the slow rhythm of breathing filled the shelters until the first pale light crept over the treetops.

  Athan stirred before the others.

  His body ached—just a little—from the long hours spent hauling stone, digging, mixing, and building. But it was a good ache. A builder’s ache.

  One that reminded him that progress left its mark on the body, too.

  Carefully, so as not to wake the others, he slipped out from under the shared bedding. Lara’s arm twitched slightly in her sleep but didn’t resist.

  Kali mumbled something incoherent and curled tighter into the blanket.

  Athan pulled the covering higher over both of them, then stood and stepped out into the cool morning air.

  Mist clung low over the ground, curling between huts and tools left out from the day before.

  The sky above was pale and cloudless.

  Still quiet.

  He inhaled deeply.

  Smoke. Dew. Earth.

  The village was still asleep, but not for long.

  There was always more to do.

  Athan moved quietly through the still village, his bare feet brushing against the cool morning grass.

  He passed the stone path, the cooking area, the firepit he had built the day before—now partially dry and solid under the faint morning light. He paused just long enough to glance at it, his gaze lingering for a second, then kept walking.

  His destination was the basin below the waterfall.

  The soft roar of the cascade reached him before he saw it, the familiar sound greeting him like an old friend.

  Birdsong trickled in from the trees beyond the river, mixing with the hush of wind through leaves.

  When he reached the edge of the water, he crouched without hesitation.

  The surface was smooth and still, disturbed only by the light mist curling up from where the fall hit the rock.

  He cupped his hands and brought the cold water to his face.

  The shock of it jolted him fully awake—clear and sharp, the way only river-fed water could be.

  He splashed his face again, rubbing away the dust and sweat of yesterday’s work, then dragged his wet hands through his hair.

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  Another splash, then stillness.

  He remained like that for a while—kneeling, listening, breathing.

  The world was quiet here.

  Just water, stone, and the weight of a new day.

  When he finally rose, he felt clearer. Ready.

  He dried his hands against the hem of his tunic, then turned back toward the path.

  Time to check the kiln.

  Just as that thought crossed his mind, a sudden gust of wind whipped across his face—sharp and cold, carrying with it the smell of damp leaves and distant earth.

  Athan blinked and looked up.

  Dark clouds were rolling in from beyond the trees—thick, heavy, and low.

  Rain clouds.

  Big ones.

  He stood frozen for a moment, watching the sky shift above him, the treetops beginning to sway as the wind picked up.

  Then his heart jumped.

  The kiln.

  The bedding.

  The tools.

  Everything they’d left out.

  Without another thought, he turned and sprinted back toward the shelters.

  As he approached the main clearing, some of the villagers were just starting to stir—stretching, yawning, emerging sleepily from under shared blankets.

  He didn’t wait.

  “Rain’s comin’!” he shouted, breath already short from the run.

  “Big one! Move fast—get your things inside!”

  Heads snapped up.

  Blankets were thrown back, people scrambled to their feet.

  “You hear me!” Athan called again, louder this time. “Get the bedding, the tools—everything! Into the house! Now!”

  Panic didn’t spread.

  But urgency did.

  All around the clearing, men and women broke into motion, grabbing baskets, bundles of fabric, stacks of firewood, and rushing toward the big house.

  Rael was already ushering the younger women to move faster. Wade barked orders toward the men still near the construction area. Kali ran past Athan carrying two baskets stacked on top of each other, Lara right behind her with a pile of folded cloth under one arm.

  The first cool drops hit the dirt as Athan sprinted back toward the main clearing.

  He didn’t waste a second.

  Skirting the edge of the shelters, he veered toward the brick shelter where the wheelbarrow had been left after yesterday’s work.

  His tools—cleaned and set to dry on a flat stone—were still there, scattered neatly in the morning light.

  Athan scooped them up quickly, one after another, setting them into the cart.

  Trowel. Mixing stick. Flat stone. Hoe.

  All dropped inside with hurried but careful movements.

  His mind raced as he worked.

  The bricks...

  He glanced toward the drying area, heart pounding.

  Thankfully, they had built proper shelters over the bricks days ago—simple, sloped roofs of woven branches and bark to shield them from sudden storms.

  It wouldn't stop all the moisture, but it would slow it enough to avoid major damage.

  It should be fine, he told himself.

  It has to be.

  He grabbed the handles of the wheelbarrow and pushed it toward the big house, steering it under the extended overhang to keep the tools dry.

  But he wasn't done yet.

  Turning sharply, Athan ran toward the edge of the clearing where broad-leafed plants grew thick along the treeline.

  He hacked a few down quickly—big, wide leaves, slick and heavy with natural oils.

  Perfect.

  With the bundles under one arm, he dashed back toward the kiln.

  The surface of the fresh mortar was still drying—it couldn’t take a heavy rain, not yet.

  Working fast, he draped the leaves across the top of the kiln, layering them thickly, covering as much of the exposed surface as he could.

  He weighted the leaves down with stones grabbed from the nearby pile, pressing them into place so the wind wouldn’t tear them free.

  Once the kiln was covered, he rushed to the firepit.

  Same treatment—leaves draped, stones set, covering the still-drying structure.

  Then to the small water pool and the U-shaped wall.

  Again, he laid the leaves carefully, shielding the fresh cement from the coming storm.

  Each second, the sky darkened further.

  The first real sheets of rain were already sweeping across the far edge of the forest.

  Finally, he stepped back, chest heaving, feeling the first heavy drops soak into his hair and tunic.

  It would have to be enough.

  He turned and sprinted toward his shelter.

  By the time he reached it, most of the girls had already done the heavy work—bundles of bedding, baskets of dried food, precious tools had all been carried into the big house.

  The last of the blankets were being bundled up now, hurriedly wrapped by Kali.

  He scanned the clearing quickly, counting faces, bundles, movements—

  Something tugged at him.

  “Where’s Lara?” he asked, voice sharp with worry.

  Kali, busy tying down the last bundle, pointed toward the trees, her small hand lifting without hesitation.

  “Fish trap,” she said. “She gone get it.”

  Athan’s heart skipped.

  Of course.

  The last storm had wrecked their old trap.

  Lara must have remembered—and ran to save it before it was too late.

  Without wasting another breath, Athan sprinted down the worn path toward the river.

  The rain was coming faster now, fat drops pattering against the leaves overhead. The sky rumbled low, heavy with the promise of a real downpour.

  Halfway down the trail, he spotted her.

  Lara was jogging back toward him, the fish trap cradled carefully in both arms.

  It was still intact, and she was alright, no signs of panic.

  Just her, moving quickly but calmly.

  Relief hit him like a wave.

  Athan slowed, his feet slipping a little in the wet soil, and met her halfway.

  Lara blinked in surprise when she saw him running toward her—but after a heartbeat, she nodded once, her mouth set in a determined line.

  Without a word, Athan moved to her side, slipping his hands under one end of the trap to help carry it.

  Together, they hurried back toward the village, the trap held steady between them.

  The first sheets of heavy rain began to fall in earnest, soaking their hair, their tunics clinging damp to their skin.

  But the trap was safe.

  The shelter was close.

  They rushed back through the clearing, steering straight toward their own shelter.

  There, under the overhang, they tucked the fish trap against the wall, shielding it from the worst of the rain.

  Athan paused, glancing around quickly.

  Everything that hadn’t been brought into the big house had been pulled under the shelters—baskets, tools, supplies, all protected as best as possible.

  The village had moved fast.

  Faster than he could have hoped.

  Satisfied, he turned to Lara.

  She met his eyes briefly, water dripping from her hair, and gave him a small, tired smile.

  Without needing to speak, they both broke into a run, dashing through the rain, feet pounding against the muddy ground.

  Together, they made their way toward the warmth and protection of the house—

  Leaving the storm to rage behind them.

  Athan and Lara reached the entrance of the house just as the rain came down harder—thick sheets slapping against the earth, drumming on the roof above like a hundred open palms.

  They ducked inside, breathless and soaked through, their clothes clinging to their skin.

  Inside, the space was dim but dry.

  The air was cool, but still.

  Still—and safe.

  Most of the clan had already gathered, huddled together near the walls, bedding rolled and stacked, baskets tucked neatly along the edges.

  Voices murmured quietly in the background.

  Some were laughing softly.

  Others just sat, catching their breath.

  The house was quiet in its own way—like the pause after a long day’s hunt, when everyone knew they’d done their part.

  No one lit a fire.

  There was no hearth here yet.

  But the walls were strong, the roof solid, and for now, the storm outside could do nothing more than knock on the roof and walls.

  Lara let out a slow breath and shook out her arms, wringing water from her sleeves.

  Athan pushed back his hair, water dripping from the ends, and looked around.

  Rael sat near the back, wringing out the edge of a tunic and speaking low with Meg.

  Wade leaned against a wall, arms crossed, watching the others settle in.

  Kali spotted them and waved quickly from her spot near the front. A smile tugged at her lips, her eyes bright despite the tiredness there.

  Athan helped Lara squeeze the last drops of water from her sleeves before they both stepped fully inside.

  He glanced once over his shoulder, out into the gray curtain of rain beyond the doorway.

  Then he let it go.

  The outside could wait.

  For now, the clan was safe.

  Together.

  Mostly dry.

  And that was enough.

  Athan found a clear spot near the wall and sat down heavily, stretching his legs out in front of him.

  Lara joined him without a word, her shoulder brushing lightly against his.

  Around them, the quiet hum of voices continued—low, slow, unhurried.

  There was no rush anymore.

  Just the sound of rain on the roof, and the steady breathing of people who knew they’d done what they needed to.

  Outside, the storm would run its course.

  Inside, the village would endured.

  -----------------------

  After a short rest, Athan pushed himself back up, the heaviness in his limbs giving way to a quiet sense of duty.

  Outside, the rain still fell—steady, unrelenting—but inside the house, things had settled.

  People had claimed corners, organized bundles, and started making the most of the dry space.

  Athan began moving between the gathered materials, eyes sharp, mind already working.

  There was more than he expected.

  Piles of rope—some thick, twisted for hauling or binding beams, others thin and flexible, suited for baskets or lashings—had been stacked in bundles near the walls.

  Several of Nat’s woven baskets had been brought in too, most of them filled with dried grass and gathered leaves, still usable despite the humidity in the air.

  Branches had been hauled inside—some thin and pliable, others thick and heavy. Even a few logs had made it in, laid carefully against the back wall where the ground was driest.

  Good, he thought, crouching beside one pile.

  At least we have material.

  He ran a hand along one of the thicker branches—straight, clean, no major knots.

  Perfect.

  Without hesitation, he picked it up and stood again, weighing it lightly in his hands.

  There was work to be done.

  Even with the rain falling outside, they could plan, shape, carve, and prepare.

  The storm had paused the world beyond the house—but inside, progress didn’t have to stop.

  Athan turned from the materials and looked around the room.

  “Where’s the bowdrill?” he asked, his voice low but clear.

  Ok, seated nearby and tightening a rope bundle, looked up and gave a small nod. He rummaged through one of the storage piles beside him, shifting a few pieces of bark and cloth before pulling the tool free.

  “Here,” he said, handing it over.

  Athan took it carefully. “Thanks.”

  He carried it over to a flat spot near the wall and set the straight branchin front of him. With careful pressure and practiced rhythm, he began drilling holes at even intervals along the wood—pausing only to blow away the fine dust gathering around each new gap.

  Once the last hole was done, he set the drill aside and picked up another, thinner branch.

  He used his stone hatchet to cut it into short, even pieces—each about ten centimeters long.

  One by one, he shaped the ends, smoothing them slightly so they would fit clean into the drilled holes.

  Then, with steady hands, he began pressing the small pieces into place.

  When he finished, he held the object up, turning it slightly in the light.

  A simple frame—clean, solid, and functional.

  The prototype was complete.

  Without wasting time, he stood and crossed the room.

  Rael sat near the back wall, her hands idle for once, eyes watching the rain trail across the open doorway. She looked up as Athan approached.

  He knelt beside her and held out the frame.

  “Think this’ll work?” he asked. “For the mattresses?”

  She leaned in, examining it closely.

  The spacing. The sturdiness. The logic behind it.

  Her fingers ran over the pegs, testing their hold.

  Then she gave a quiet nod, eyes sharpening with renewed purpose.

  “Yeah,” she said. “This... this’ll help.”