The morning after their long battle with the goblins, the forest was strangely quiet. It wasn't the silence of danger, but of relief—like the trees themselves had sighed after the bloody chaos of the night before. Ash still lingered in the air from the cremated goblin corpses, but Qen forced himself to ignore the smell. He had smelled worse on the battlefield. Beside him, Hert crouched in front of the hut, tail flicking idly as if testing whether their little home was truly real.
"Still standing," Qen said with a faint smile. He stretched, his shoulders aching from yesterday's labor. "Not bad for two idiots with no clue what they were doing."
Hert chuckled, running his hand along one of the walls. "It may collapse the first time it rains."
Qen snorted. "Don't curse it yet."
Freon yawned, rolling onto his side near the doorway, unbothered by their words. The direwolf had slept like a boulder after tearing through goblins the night before.
Qen turned serious after a moment. "The hut's good enough to keep us alive, but if we want to live here… we need more."
Hert tilted his head. "More?"
"A table. A place to put things. Maybe a bench to work on, because my back is killing me from bending over all the time. Tools, shelves, even a fire pit inside for winter. We need to start small, though. A workbench comes first."
Hert blinked. "What is… a workbench?"
Qen realized then how much of his knowledge was just bits and pieces—terms he'd heard soldiers, blacksmiths, or villagers say in passing. "It's like… a table, but stronger. For cutting, hammering, and building things."
"And how do we build this… table-that-is-not-a-table?" Hert asked dryly, tail swishing.
Qen looked at the hut's walls, at the scattered logs around their camp, and then at his sword. "We figure it out."
The first attempt was a disaster.
Qen decided they should try to copy the way the hut's walls were made—by propping logs upright, then stacking smaller trunks across them. He jammed two thick stumps into the ground as "legs," then laid a trunk across them. It wobbled so violently that when he tried to test it with his hand, the whole thing collapsed onto his shin.
"Gah!" Qen winced, hopping on one leg.
Hert doubled over laughing, nearly falling onto Freon's tail. "This is your mighty work-table?"
"Don't start," Qen muttered through gritted teeth, rubbing his shin.
Their second attempt wasn't much better. Hert suggested using stones as the base instead of digging holes. They piled up a few flat rocks, balanced a trunk across them, and congratulated themselves—until Freon walked past and brushed against it. The whole structure tipped over and landed on Hert's tail.
The wolfkin yelped, clutching his tail as he glared at Qen. "This is your fault!"
"How is it my fault you didn't move your tail?"
Freon only gave them a judgmental look before lying down again, as if to say, Pathetic
By midday, both of them were sweaty, sore, and covered in dirt. The pile of failed "tables" looked more like firewood than furniture. Hert flopped down onto the ground, panting.
"This is impossible," he muttered.
Qen leaned against a tree, equally drained. "No. Just stupidly difficult without tools." He stared at his sword. It was a fine weapon, but every time he used it to hack a log into shape, it dulled the blade. That was dangerous for a swordsman.
"Maybe we're thinking wrong," Qen said finally. "It doesn't need to look perfect. It just needs to hold weight."
Hert sat up slowly. "Then what?"
"Then… we use what we already know." Qen thought back to his soldiering days—improvised barricades, makeshift bridges, crude but functional. "We lash things together. Rope. Vines. If the forest can tie itself in knots, so can we."
That afternoon, they experimented with vines, twisting and braiding them until they resembled ropes. Their first vine snapped the moment Qen tested it. Their second held for a while but loosened after Hert leaned on it. Still, each failure taught them something. By the time the sun dipped lower, they had four sturdy legs lashed to a thick slab of wood.
The workbench stood crooked, uneven, and ugly. But it stood.
Qen placed his sword gently across it, testing the surface. It didn't collapse. "Ha! Look at that. It actually works."
Hert grinned, running his hand across the rough wood. "It is ugly."
"Ugly and ours." Qen couldn't help but laugh. "That's progress."
Once they had a workbench, a table seemed like the next logical step. Eating hunched over a log every night was miserable. Hert especially disliked it—his tail always flicked in irritation when it brushed against the dirt.
But building a table brought new challenges. They needed something flat, wide enough to eat on, but lighter than the workbench.
Hert tried splitting logs with Qen's sword, only to send chips flying dangerously close to Freon's nose. The wolf growled and stomped away in annoyance.
"This will never do," Hert said, frustrated.
Qen rubbed his temple. "We need flat boards, but we don't have an axe… or a saw. Or nails. Or anything, really."
Hert's ears perked up. "Then we cheat."
Qen blinked. "Cheat how?"
"Use the rocks," Hert said, pointing toward the stream nearby. "If we smash the wood against sharp stone, maybe it will flatten."
Qen raised a brow. "That sounds ridiculous."
"…Do you have a better idea?"
They didn't. So they spent the next two hours dragging logs to the stream, smashing them against jagged rocks, and peeling off rough slabs of wood. It was exhausting, frustrating, and loud enough to scare every bird within a mile.
By the time they managed three half-flat boards, their arms were shaking. Hert looked at their "lumber" with wide eyes. "It worked."
"Barely," Qen muttered, but he couldn't hide his grin.
Using vines again, they lashed the boards together across four stubby legs. The table stood crooked, one corner higher than the others, but when they set their bowls on it that night, it didn't fall.
Hert stared at the steaming rabbit stew atop their lopsided table. His tail swished slowly. "…It feels different."
Qen nodded, taking a bite. "Feels like home."
Freon, unimpressed, shoved his muzzle onto the table and stole a chunk of meat. The entire thing wobbled violently, nearly dumping stew into Qen's lap.
"Freon!" both men shouted in unison.
The direwolf only wagged his tail.
---
In the days that followed, the hut transformed into something more than just a shelter. With the workbench and table finished, Qen and Hert found themselves eager—almost addicted—to try new creations.
They made shelves by wedging sticks between the hut's wall posts. The shelves sagged under too much weight, but they worked for holding herbs and dried mushrooms. They attempted stools by sawing small logs into rounds and attaching legs; two broke the moment Hert sat on them, but one held firm.
Each success, no matter how small, filled them with pride. Each failure taught them patience.
---
At night, as the fire crackled and the scent of roasted meat filled the air, they sat at their crooked table, sharing stories. Qen spoke of battlefields far from here—of blood and glory and the emptiness after. Hert spoke of the wilds, of learning to survive alone, of wolves that had once guided him when no one else would.
Freon usually dozed beside them, snoring softly. Yet sometimes, Qen swore the direwolf was listening.
As they finished another long day of trial-and-error carpentry, Hert leaned back and studied their little hut, their table, their shelves, their growing home. His amber eyes glowed faintly in the firelight.
"We are… making something," he said slowly, almost in disbelief. "Not just surviving. Building."
Qen's lips curved into a rare, quiet smile. "That's the difference, Hert. Soldiers survive. But men who build…" He gestured toward their hut. "…They live."
Hert nodded, tail curling around his legs. "Then let us live."
The fire crackled. The night air was cool. And for the first time in many years, Qen Tavious felt like he was shaping a future—not with steel and blood, but with wood, fire, and stubborn will.
Freon lifted his head, yawned, and placed a massive paw on the table as if claiming it too. The table groaned, but held.
Qen laughed. "Alright, fine. You're part of this home too."
And so, beneath the silent canopy of the forest, the unlikely trio—man, wolfkin, and direwolf—took their first true steps not as wanderers, but as builders of a new life.