When the unending spring rain seeped through the cracks in the rock and soaked the hay beneath him, turning his once-dry sleeping place cold and sour, Adrian opened his eyes.
He stood for a moment, staring at the ruined bedding.
Rainwater had trickled down the rock face until the hay became a heap of rotting grass, and when he pressed his palm against it, dirty water squelched between his fingers.
The musty odor mixed with the smell of wet vegetation, creating a sharp, sour stench that filled his nose.
Even the ground had softened, and every step left a shallow depression in the mud.
“I can’t keep sleeping on the ground.” He left the hollow and entered the forest.
Everything was wet after the rain—the tree trunks, the fallen leaves, and even the moss, which had become dangerously slippery beneath his boots.
He searched for nearly an hour before stopping beside a fallen oak.
Its trunk was about as thick as his calf and partially rotten, with bark that crumbled away at the slightest touch.
Adrian chopped off the decayed sections and cut the solid wood into six pieces, each roughly three feet long.
It took him three journeys to carry enough timber back for the base of a raised sleeping platform.
Inside the hollow, he placed the logs side by side across the ground.
One end rested against the rock wall, while the other was raised and stabilized with broken stones.
There were large gaps between the logs, but the surface was reasonably level.
When he pressed down with both hands, none of the pieces rolled or shifted.
He returned to the forest and gathered a large pile of pine needles.
They were damp, but they had absorbed little water, and most of the droplets fell away after a few firm shakes.
He spread the needles thickly across the wooden frame until the layer was nearly two palms deep, then pressed them down.
Over that, he added a layer of dry moss taken from the deepest part of the hollow—the only material the rain had not completely soaked.
When he finished, Adrian straightened and examined the new bed.
It stood more than a foot above the ground.
He sat on it to test its strength.
The logs supported his weight, while the pine needles and moss provided enough cushioning to make the surface tolerable.
It was hardly comfortable, but at least it was dry.
“It’ll do.
I can sleep on it tonight.” He remained seated for a while before turning his attention to the rock walls surrounding the hollow.
Water was still seeping from one of the cracks, falling drop by drop onto the remains of his old bedding with a steady patter.
Although the ground had not yet dried after the rain, Adrian resumed working.
The raised platform might solve the problem for a day or two, but it was not a lasting solution.
The rock wall leaked, and moisture constantly rose from the ground.
No matter how thickly he layered the pine needles, they would eventually become damp as well.
Every morning, he reached beneath the platform and felt cold moisture lingering below.
If he continued living like this, it would not be long before he was sleeping in wet, rotting grass again.
“I need to build a proper house.” Standing in the hollow, he inspected the terrain once more.
Earthen slopes enclosed three sides, while the southern side remained open.
Directly to the north stood a rough but relatively flat rock face, eight or nine feet high.
After studying it for a moment, he began forming a plan.
“If I use the rock face as the rear wall, I can save a great deal of timber.” Adrian picked up his short axe and headed into the forest.
This time, he needed trees much thicker than those he had previously cut—not saplings as wide as his arm, but trunks nearly as thick as his thigh.
A man could barely drag a tree of that size alone; anything larger would be impossible for him to move.
He searched for almost an hour before choosing three suitable trees.
Each stood straight, with few large branches, rough bark, and dense, solid wood.
Drawing the axe from his belt, Adrian began chopping into the base of the first tree.
The blade sank into the bark with a heavy thud.
Wood chips scattered around him, and one fragment landed against his neck, sticking to the sweat on his skin.
After thirty or forty blows, he had carved a deep V-shaped notch into the trunk, exposing the pale yellow heartwood.
He moved to the opposite side and resumed chopping from a different angle.
Another thirty or forty strikes widened the cut until the fibers inside the trunk began to tear.
A long creaking groan came from the tree as it slowly leaned to one side.
Its branches scraped against the surrounding canopy with a violent rustling before the entire trunk crashed to the ground.
Adrian straightened and paused to catch his breath.
Sweat ran down his temples, and he wiped it away with his sleeve before looking over the fallen tree.
From the base to the crown, it measured fifteen or sixteen feet.
The main trunk alone was more than long enough to serve as one of the support beams.
He removed the branches until only the straight trunk remained.
Rather than discarding them, he stacked the branches nearby so they could later be carried back and used as firewood.
Dragging the trunk to the hollow was far more difficult than felling it.
The heavy wood carved a shallow trench through the forest floor, pushing dead leaves and clumps of mud aside as it moved.
Adrian hauled it forward for a short distance, stopped to rest, and then continued.
By the time he reached the hollow, the rough bark had rubbed his shoulders raw, leaving them burning with pain.
After resting for nearly an hour, Adrian returned to drag back the second tree.
By the time the sun began to set, all three trunks had been hauled to the hollow and laid side by side on the flat ground outside.
He sat on one of them and swallowed several mouthfuls of cold water.
The skin between his thumb and forefinger had been rubbed raw by the axe handle, while fresh blisters had formed beneath the calluses on his palms.
They were swollen and throbbed whenever he pressed them.
The following morning, he began preparing the timber.
Each of the three trunks was cut into two sections.
The longer pieces, measuring eight or nine feet, would serve as pillars, while the shorter sections would be used as crossbeams.
Once the cuts were finished, he stripped away the bark with his axe.
Pale yellow wood emerged beneath it, slick to the touch and carrying the sharp, green scent of freshly cut timber.
The bark curled into long tubes as it came away.
Adrian piled it to one side to use later as kindling.
He now had the pillars and crossbeams.
The next step was assembling them.
Without nails, he would have to rely on another method.
Mortise-and-tenon joints.
Adrian crouched on the ground and used a twig to sketch the structure in the mud.
He would carve a tenon at the top of each pillar and cut matching mortises into the ends of the crossbeams.
The tenons would slide into the mortises, and wooden wedges driven in from the sides would lock them firmly in place.
The pieces would hold one another together without requiring a single iron nail.
He examined the sketch and mentally worked through the design several times.
Once he was certain he had overlooked nothing, he picked up his axe and chisel.
Carving the first tenon took nearly an hour.
Its head had to be square, and all four sides needed to be flat.
Even a slight angle would prevent it from fitting properly inside the mortise.
Adrian would carve for a while, stop to inspect the shape, and run his thumb across the surface.
Whenever he felt a raised section, he trimmed it again.
By the time the first tenon was finished, it was crooked and uneven, but at least it was roughly square.
“The first one is ugly.
The others will be better.” After reassuring himself, he began the second.
By noon on the third day, the tenons on all four pillars were complete.
He had also carved the corresponding mortises into the crossbeams—four square openings just large enough to receive the tenons.
Adrian laid one crossbeam flat on the ground and raised a pillar upright beside it.
After aligning the tenon with the mortise, he slowly lowered it into place.
The wood produced a low creaking sound as the tight surfaces rubbed together.
Once the joint had settled fully, he struck the side of the pillar several times with the back of his axe to force it deeper.
He repeated the process with the remaining pillars.
When all four were standing, the frame formed a stable rectangle.
Adrian seized one pillar and shook it with all his strength, but the mortise-and-tenon joints did not move.
Next came the roof.
He cut a number of rafters from the forest, each thinner than his wrist, and laid them one by one across the crossbeams.
Their upper ends rested against the top of the rock wall, creating a sloping roof.
He left roughly a palm’s width between each rafter and secured them tightly with vines.
Over the rafters, he spread a thick layer of ferns.
He then covered the ferns with large sheets of bark peeled from dead trees.
The sheets were arranged from the bottom upward, overlapping like roof tiles.
Rain striking the bark would run down the slope rather than seeping into the house.
After placing the final sheet, Adrian climbed down.
The outline of a proper house had already taken shape.
It was not large—perhaps twelve feet long and eight feet wide—but it was incomparably better than the crude grass shelter he had used before.
The ground inside was still nothing more than riverbank mud.
Adrian carried clay up from the water’s edge, spread it over the floor, and stamped it down with his boots.
The clay was grayish brown and sticky while wet, but once firmly packed and dried, it would harden considerably.
He covered the entire floor with an even layer and flattened it using a broad stone.
The most important feature was the stove.
He positioned it in the southeastern corner, roughly two feet away from the wooden wall.
Then he dismantled the old stone hearth outside and selected the stones whose surfaces had already cracked from repeated exposure to fire.
Since they had already endured high temperatures, they were less likely to split again.
He stacked the stones carefully to form a square firebox.
The opening faced the doorway, allowing him to add firewood without moving awkwardly around the interior.
Adrian filled the gaps between the stones with clay, packing it tightly layer by layer.
For the flue, he left a small opening in the eastern wall between two pillars.
The hole was roughly the width of his palm, just large enough for smoke to escape.
He coated its inner surface with clay so that prolonged exposure to hot smoke would not ignite the surrounding wood.
Crouching in front of the stove, he peered into the firebox.
The clay had not yet dried.
It remained dark and gave off the damp, earthy smell of wet soil.
Once dry, it would fade to a pale gray and become nearly as hard as stone.
A narrow beam of light entered through the flue and illuminated the inside of the firebox.
Adrian gathered the still-warm charcoal from the old hearth and carried it into the new stove along with the smoldering tinder tube.
He placed both in the center, lay flat on the floor, and gently blew against the faint red embers.
A few thin wisps of smoke rose through the firebox and drifted along the stone wall toward the flue.
Soon, small flames began to flicker among the charcoal.
The smoke continued to escape rather than gathering inside the house.
“Good.
The smoke won’t be trapped in here.” Adrian rose and brushed the mud from his hands.
Night had already fallen outside.
Only a few birds still called from the forest, while the wind moved through the treetops with a low, howling sound.
He sat on the newly laid clay floor with his back against the rock wall.
The stone remained cool, but the interior was far drier than the old hollow had been.
The bark roof blocked most of the night wind, making the unfinished house noticeably warmer than the open air outside.
The stove stood in the corner, its clay still damp.
Once everything had dried and he lit a proper fire inside it, the house would finally become habitable.
The walls, however, were still incomplete.
Wind passed freely through the open framework on every side.
He had not yet made a window, but that could wait until tomorrow.
The window would be placed in the western wall.
A space two feet wide and a foot and a half high would be sufficient to observe the forest and allow fresh air inside.
To complete the remaining walls, he only needed to weave branches horizontally between the pillars and coat them with a mixture of clay and chopped grass.
Once dried, the plaster would form a solid barrier.
The wind outside grew stronger.
It entered through the open southern side, carrying the cold, damp smell of the forest.
By the time it reached Adrian, however, most of its force had already been weakened by the roof.
He leaned back and adjusted himself against the rock wall.
Once the walls were finished, he could move all his belongings inside.
Then this place would finally feel like a home.