As the gate creaked open, the shelter came into Northern's view. Its rough-hewn wooden structures were enough to tell him that this place was hastily assembled; however, it was undeniably resilient.
Northern felt his spit grow dry as Ellis said the word 'Home'.
Had he at any time considered this place his home? Lotheliwan?
'What the hell is he talking about home?'
Northern, dumbfounded with what Ellis just spurted, gave a dismissive look at the boy and stepped forward.
The structures within the shelter were rugged and raw, their wooden frames crudely yet solidly built.
The wood, aged and splintered, told stories of makeshift repairs.
A central building stood out, its broad, sagging roof patched with mismatched shingles and pieces of tarp. Its walls, a haphazard mix of planks and logs, were braced with ropes and metal scraps.
