The first rays of sunlight crept over the towering mountains, casting long shadows across the valley. The mist rising from the river glowed golden in the early light, swirling gently above the water's surface before dissipating into the cool morning air. The jungle beyond the settlement stirred to life—birds calling from the treetops, unseen creatures rustling through the undergrowth, and the distant howls of predators retreating from the night's hunt.
Athan lay on his side, his eyes open, watching the embers of last night's fire flicker softly in the dim light. He hadn't slept much. His mind had been too full, buzzing with thoughts of what today would bring. This was the beginning—the first true day of making this land their home.
He exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of responsibility settle over him like a thick blanket. Today, there was no more wandering, no more searching. Today, they built.
Carefully, he sat up, his movements slow so as not to wake the others still curled in their damaged furs and leaf mats. He could hear the steady breathing of his people, the soft murmurs of those stirring in half-sleep. But soon, the camp would be alive with movement, the air filled with the sounds of labor and determination.
Rising to his feet, Athan stepped away from his leaf matress, his gaze immediately falling to the ground near the edge of the fire where he had drawn his plan the night before. The heat of the fire had dried the soil slightly, preserving the intricate lines he had etched. To his quiet satisfaction, the clan had treated it with reverence, as if it were an untouchable piece of art. No careless footprints had disturbed the careful marks, no stray hands had smudged his work. The firelight had cast flickering shadows over it through the night, illuminating the vision he had laid out for their new home.
He crouched beside it, running his fingers lightly over the earth, feeling the cool contrast beneath the warmth of his skin. This plan was more than just a drawing—it was a foundation, a promise of what they would create. He pressed his hand into the ground beside it, as if grounding himself in the reality of what was to come. This place was theirs now.
A flicker of movement caught his eye. His father was awake, standing at the edge of the clearing, his massive frame silhouetted against the soft morning light. Wade said nothing at first, simply watching his son. There was something unreadable in his expression—an unspoken understanding between them.
Athan set to modifying the plan he had drawn the night before. The first step was clear: fortifying the camp to increase their level of protection. At present, the only thing keeping predators at bay was the fire, its flickering flames a temporary deterrent. But fire alone would not protect them forever. As time passed and the clan remained in one place, predators might grow accustomed to the flames, their curiosity outweighing their caution. To ensure true safety, they needed walls.
With careful strokes, Athan traced a curved line around the waterfall on the map, marking where the defensive barrier should stand. The natural terrain gave them an advantage—one side was already protected by the sheer rock wall and the rushing water, leaving only the open land to the front and sides to be enclosed. He envisioned a tall palisade, wooden stakes driven deep into the ground, interlocked tightly to prevent anything from slipping through. It would not just keep out predators but also serve as the first step in defining their new home as a permanent place of safety.
The task ahead was immense. Trees would need to be felled, stripped, and sharpened. The logs had to be thick enough to withstand external forces but light enough for the clan to manage. And to do all this, they required tools—something they had never needed before in their nomadic life.
Until now, they had survived with the bare essentials, prioritizing mobility over craftsmanship. But now, they were here to stay. The time had come to forge their own tools. The first step would be crafting something strong enough to cut through wood—an axe. Without it, the walls could not be built, and their survival in this place would remain uncertain.
Athan looked at the gathered materials around the camp—the scattered pile of stones, littles bones from past hunts, and the long branches collected the previous day. Ideas began forming in his mind. Before they could build a village, they first had to build the tools that would shape it.
Athan crouched near the gathered materials, his fingers sifting through the pile of stones, searching for the right one. He needed a piece of rock that was hard enough to hold an edge but not too brittle. His hands settled on a rough-edged stone, roughly the size of his father's palm, with one side already showing signs of a natural break. However, it wasn't sharp enough yet.
Gripping the stone tightly, he picked up another rock—denser and more solid—and began striking the first one against it. With each careful, deliberate hit, small flakes chipped away, refining the edge. Sparks flickered briefly in the dim morning light as the stones clashed.
As he worked, members of the clan began to gather around him, their curiosity piqued by the loud clash from stone against stone. They had seen Athan create before, had witnessed his ideas turn into tools and solutions, and now they watched in silence, eager to understand.
After several minutes of precise strikes, the stone had a sharper, more refined edge. He turned it over in his hand, running his fingers along the blade-like section, testing its sharpness. Satisfied, he turned to the pile of branches, selecting one that was thick and sturdy but not too heavy. The wood needed to be strong enough to withstand repeated strikes yet light enough to be wielded effectively. Using a knife, he began carving a groove into the strongest extremity of the branch.
Then the boy placed the stone and the wood piece on the ground and took a strip of dried tendon from the pile of supplies. He had gathered it from past scavenging, knowing that its toughness and flexibility would be useful. Holding the stone against the groove of the wooden branch, he carefully began wrapping the tendon around it, binding the rock tightly. He twisted and pulled with precise force, ensuring that the tension was enough to keep the head secure without cracking the wood.
To reinforce the binding, he reached for a length of dried grass rope, braided tightly the day before. He wrapped this around the tendon, securing the axe head even further, making sure that with each layer, the stone pressed deeper into the wood. Then, using a small sharp bone, he wedged it between the stone and the wood, locking the pieces together so they wouldn't shift under pressure.
Once satisfied, he lifted the axe and tested its weight in his hand. It felt heavy, the grip secure, but the movement was not fluid. The tool was larger than he had expected, and when he stepped toward a nearby fallen log to try it, the first swing was clumsy. The stone head struck the wood with a dull impact, but the force lacked precision. His grip wavered slightly, making the strike unsteady. He swung again, trying to correct himself, but the effort felt unnatural, his small frame struggling with the motion.
Before he could attempt a third strike, a firm hand caught his wrist. Wade, his father, stood beside him, eyes scanning the tool before shifting to Athan's grip. "Too big," Wade observed, his deep voice calm but firm. He gestured toward the axe. "How?"
Athan took a step back, regaining his balance before looking up at his father. "This... axe," he said, giving the tool its name. "Not for break. For cut."
He turned toward the fallen log and pointed to the thick, unyielding wood. "Before, we snap, pull, break branches. Slow. Hard. This... cut. Now we chop. Make fast."
Wade studied the axe, then the tree, then his son. After a long pause, he reached out, grasping the handle in his massive hands. He tested its weight, his experienced grip adjusting naturally. With one smooth motion, he raised the axe and brought it down. The sharpened stone bit deep into the wood, sinking in with satisfying precision. The sound echoed through the camp, drawing the attention of the clan.
Wade pulled the axe free and nodded. "Good. We cut. We build?"
Athan turned back to the clan, his father lifting the axe for them to see. "Now, we build."
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That morning, most of the men were working on making axes for themselves under Athan's guidance. He moved between them, correcting grips, demonstrating how to secure the stone heads more firmly, and ensuring the bindings were tight enough to withstand repeated strikes. The air was filled with the rhythmic sounds of stones being chipped and tendon being pulled taut around wooden handles. The clan, once unfamiliar with new tools, was learning fast. Every so often, Athan would pause, watching their progress, making sure each axe was strong enough to endure heavy use. His own small hands, still sore from his first attempt, worked tirelessly to adjust the positioning of the stones and reinforce the bindings with more layers of tendon.
Meanwhile, his father, Wade, was focused on felling the trees that Athan had just marked with an X near the camp. The markings were deliberate—chosen for their straight trunks and positioning to avoid weakening the forest's natural wind barrier. Wade moved with practiced efficiency, gripping the axe firmly and swinging it with calculated force. His strikes landed cleanly, the sharpened stone biting deep into the wood, sending small chips flying with each impact. Unlike the others who were still growing accustomed to the tool, Wade handled it with natural strength, adapting quickly to its weight and balance.
As Athan had instructed, Wade aimed to cut as close to the ground as possible without striking the soil. The boy had told him that the roots often concealed hidden stones, and one careless strike could shatter the delicate rock head of the axe. Sweat glistened on his brow as he worked, his muscles straining with each swing. The sound of each impact echoed through the camp, steady and powerful, like a heartbeat pounding against the forest.
The first tree groaned under its own weight, tilting forward as the final strike severed the last of its support. The trunk cracked loudly before it plummeted to the ground with a thunderous crash, shaking the earth beneath their feet. The birds that had been nesting in the canopy scattered into the sky, their panicked cries fading into the distance.
The sound rippled through the camp, and several clan members turned to watch as Wade straightened, rolling his shoulders before moving on to the next marked tree. Athan observed the fallen trunk, stepping closer and running his fingers along its surface. This was only the beginning. Soon, these trees would be more than just fallen wood. They would be protection, shelter, the first true walls of their home.
One by one, the landscape around them began to change—trees that had stood for years, untouched by human hands, now lay on the forest floor, ready to be stripped, shaped, and transformed into the foundation of something greater.
As more and more men acquired their own axes, the camp buzzed with movement. Some focused on felling trees, their rhythmic swings echoing through the clearing, while others stripped the felled logs of their branches, piling them neatly for future use. The smaller branches were set aside for now, waiting for Athan to determine their purpose.
Amid the growing activity, Athan approached his father, who was drenched in sweat from his labor. "Break? Check fish trap?" he asked simply. Wade, pausing to wipe his brow, nodded, exhaling deeply before following his son toward the river where they had set the trap the previous evening.
The river glistened under the midday sun, the water's surface disturbed only by the occasional ripple of a passing fish. As they reached the trap, Athan stopped his father before he could step into the water. "Wait," he said, pointing. "Hand here first. Hold."
He gestured toward the end of the trap where fish would have entered, ensuring that Wade secured it before removing the stones anchoring it in place. Wade followed his son's instructions, placing a firm hand over the entry point. As he carefully lifted the trap, a sudden burst of movement from within startled him. The woven structure trembled in his grip as frantic, erratic motions came from inside.
Frowning, Wade cautiously placed his other hand beneath the contraption, worried that it might tear under the weight of its contents. Through the gaps in the woven wood, he caught glimpses of wriggling shapes—several fish, their slick bodies thrashing wildly, and something else, smaller but just as lively. His grip tightened, ensuring nothing escaped.
Athan's face lit up with excitement. "It worked!" he exclaimed. "Take to fire. Show others!"
Wade, still eyeing the quivering trap with some surprise, nodded and carefully carried it back toward the center of their soon-to-be village. The clan members, noticing the unusual object in his grasp, gathered curiously around the fire pit.
Lowering it gently to the ground, Wade stepped back as Athan knelt beside it. With precise movements, the boy tilted the trap slightly and removed the piece of bark blocking the larger exit hole. One by one, the catch spilled onto the ground—four medium-sized fish, one particularly large one, and three small crayfish, their claws snapping instinctively at the air.
Athan was filled with pride at his first successful catch from the river, but as he turned to look at the gathered clan members, he noticed their hesitation. Their expressions were a mix of curiosity and uncertainty. Fish were not part of their usual diet, and the sight of the wriggling creatures, their sleek bodies glistening in the sunlight, unsettled many of them. Some whispered among themselves, their eyes darting between Athan and the unusual prey he had brought back. Others remained silent, their skepticism clear.
Sensing their reluctance, Athan squared his shoulders and met their uncertain gazes with a determined nod. He could already see the possibilities forming in his mind—new ways to cook, different methods to preserve, and the potential to expand their food sources beyond the usual game and gathered plants. This was an opportunity, and he was not going to let it slip away. They had spent too long relying on unpredictable hunts. Fish, if properly trapped, could become a stable and renewable source of food.
His hands tightened around the crayfish as he lifted them, their tiny claws snapping at the air. The hard shells clicked against each other as he gently placed them into a pouch, ensuring they wouldn't escape. With deliberate movements, he reset the bark at the trap's entrance, sealing it once more to prepare it for another catch.
Turning to his father, Athan gestured toward the river. "Trap—again. More food."
Wade, still studying the fish with mild curiosity, gave a brief nod before hoisting the trap onto his shoulder. Without hesitation, he made his way back to the river to secure it in place once more, ensuring their new method of gathering food would continue to provide for the clan.
Athan then gathered three women from the group—Sio, a petite woman with long dark brown hair; Hin, of medium height with short pale brown hair; and his mother. He explained that he had a task for them, something important that would aid the entire tribe.
He walked to a nearby pile of branches and selected one approximately 20 centimeters in diameter. To ensure uniformity, he handed it to a man nearby who was holding an axe, instructing him to cut it into evenly sized sections of about 20 centimeters. To provide a guide, he gave him a piece of wood already close to the desired size, ensuring precision.
Once the pieces were prepared, Athan retrieved a well-sharpened stone knife and picked up the first wooden section. He studied its grain, running his fingers over its rough surface before carefully beginning to carve. The blade scraped against the wood, peeling away layers with each controlled motion. He worked with deliberate precision, ensuring he didn't slip and cut himself. As he shaped the wood, his hands moved steadily, his breathing synchronized with each stroke. The wood shavings curled away, falling in soft piles around him as the raw block slowly took on a more recognizable form.
As he worked, the three women observed him closely, their eyes following every movement of his hands as he shaped the wood. The sound of the stone knife scraping against the timber filled the air, mingling with the occasional crackle of the fire nearby. Athan while making it, made sure to explain each step, demonstrating how to angle the blade to remove layers without weakening the structure and how to smooth the rough edges to prevent splinters. He showed them how to carve out the center gradually, ensuring the bowl would hold enough without becoming too thin and fragile.
When the bowl was finally shaped, he turned it over in his hands, nodding in satisfaction. He then presented it to the women. With careful gestures and simple words, he explained that they needed to carve one for each member of the tribe. Wooden bowls would make eating easier, improve cleanliness, and help them store food in a more practical way. Sio, Hin, and his mother exchanged glances, nodding in understanding before eagerly picking up their own pieces of wood and tools to begin their work.
Rising to his feet, Athan made his way back to the ever-growing pile of felled tree trunks, their stripped branches scattered nearby. His eyes settled on the largest trunks among them, a massive log set aside due to its sheer size—nearly a meter in diameter. He ran his fingers over the rough bark, gauging its weight and sturdiness before deciding on its purpose.
Knowing he couldn't handle it alone, Athan sought out his father, who had returned from the river some time ago and was assisting the other men with their tasks. As expected, Wade did not hesitate when his son called upon him. Athan explained what he needed, marking a precise spot about 1.3 meters from the base of the log using his stone knife. Without question, Wade gripped his axe and began chopping, each powerful strike sending deep echoes through the clearing. The thick wood resisted at first, but with steady persistence, the sharpened stone blade worked through the fibers, gradually weakening the trunk at the marked point.
While his father worked, Athan turned his attention to another task. He sought out long, straight branches and, using his sharp stone knife, carefully stripped them of their bark, revealing the pale, smooth wood beneath. He inspected each one, ensuring they were uniform in size and free of knots that could weaken their structure. Once satisfied, he searched for two forked branches shaped like the letter 'Y.' Finding two of similar dimensions, he carefully trimmed and smoothed them as well, making sure they were sturdy and long enough for their intended purpose.
Satisfied with his materials, Athan called Lara, who was, as always, tending the fire, ensuring it remained fed with enough wood to burn steadily. She looked up as he approached, wiping the sweat from her brow before nodding in understanding as he explain needing help to carry those branches. Together, they lifted the forked branches, their hands gripping the smooth, stripped wood as they carefully carried them toward the fire pit.
Upon reaching the designated spot, Athan knelt down and ran his fingers through the dirt, feeling its firmness beneath his touch. He then positioned one of the forked branches upright, pressing the base against the ground. "Here," he instructed, glancing at Lara to ensure she followed his reasoning. She mirrored his actions, holding the second Y-shaped branch on the opposite side of the pit before letting it rest on the ground.
Working together, they pushed the bases of the branch into the earth , twisting slightly to anchor them deep. Athan reached for a nearby stone and used it to hammer around the edges, securing them further. Lara did the same, gritting her teeth as she exerted force to ensure stability. With each strike, the branches sank deeper into the soil, until they stood tall and unwavering. They did the same for the other Y-Shaped branch.
As he wiped the sweat from his brow, Athan stepped back to examine their work. The foundation of their next project was taking shape.
Athan then showed Lara how to prepare the fish, demonstrating each step with careful precision. He started by firmly holding the fish and using a sharp stone knife to slice off the head and tail. The blade scraped against the scales as he worked, the wet, silvery skin glistening under the sunlight. With a steady hand, he made a clean incision along the belly, parting the flesh to remove the entrails. The smell of fresh fish mixed with the earthy scent of the jungle as he set the discarded parts in a leaf for later use.
Once the fish were cleaned and gutted, Athan retrieved a long, sturdy branch, carefully threading each fish between smaller sticks to create a simple drying rack. Using strips of vine as makeshift cordage, he tied them securely, ensuring they wouldn't slip free. He tested the stability of his work, adjusting the knots where needed, making sure the fish were held firmly in place.
Satisfied, he lifted the prepared rod and gently rested it atop the forked Y-shaped branches they had planted earlier. The fish now hung above the fire—not too close to the flames to prevent burning, but near enough to let the smoke envelop them. The rising tendrils of smoke curled around the fish, infusing them with its scent, a natural method of preservation that would help dry and flavor them over time. By nightfall, they would be ready to eat.
With that task completed, Athan turned his attention to another essential step. He selected several smooth, rounded stones and placed them carefully into the fire, arranging them among the embers. The heat would gradually build within the stones, making them useful for cooking and keeping food warm later in the evening.
Glancing over his shoulder, Athan noticed that his father had finished his own work for the moment. Without missing a beat, he gestured toward the heavy log Wade had cut earlier. "Help roll near fire?" he asked, his tone firm yet respectful.
Wade nodded, stepping forward to grip the massive trunk. With a combined effort, father and son began pushing it closer to the fire, their hands bracing against the rough bark. As the log shifted, dust and small twigs scattered around them. Each roll brought it closer to its intended place, a piece of their growing settlement falling into position, one task at a time.
His father sat on the ground, sweat glistening on his skin as he drank deeply from a water pouch. His breathing was heavy, but he listened intently as Athan explained the next step. The log needed one side flattened while the other would be hollowed out with the axe. To illustrate, Athan held up the wooden bowl he had crafted earlier, showing his father the concept of carving out the interior without damaging the structure.
After taking a long pause to recover, Wade stood, rolling his shoulders before gripping the axe once more. He eyed the marked section of the log carefully, making sure to avoid cutting too deep into the sides. Athan had made it clear that preserving the outer edges was crucial to maintaining its strength. With careful, deliberate strokes, Wade began hacking away, each strike chipping away at the wood with a rhythmic sound that echoed through the camp.
While his father worked, Athan turned to another task. He selected two long, straight branches, stripping the bark with precise strokes of his stone knife. Once the outer layers were removed, he began shaping both ends, carefully whittling them down until they were flatter and smoother. His hands worked methodically, ensuring the wood maintained its integrity without becoming too thin or brittle.
Once satisfied with their shape, he took a length of strong cordage and bound the two branches together at one end, creating a simple but functional pair of wooden tongs. He tested them briefly, squeezing the ends to make sure they could hold objects securely. Pleased with his work, he carried the newly crafted tool back to the fire, where he would soon put it to use.