The morning began with Kael driving a stake into the earth.
The sound of hammer striking wood cracked across the clearing, sharp and steady. He pulled the stake upright, sighted along the line he had marked with rope, and gave it another firm strike. Then another.
"This will be the outer boundary," he said, voice calm but resolute. "One day we'll have fences here. Maybe even walls. For now, it marks where we'll expand."
Borgu squinted at the rope. "Looks like string tied to sticks."
"That's exactly what it is," Kael replied without missing a beat. "But it's also a plan. And plans matter."
Borgu scratched his jaw, tusks jutting as he frowned. "Hmph. Orcs don't use plans. We build until it feels right."
"And how many of those buildings stayed standing after the first storm?"
Borgu opened his mouth, then closed it. "…Some."
Sylvara smirked faintly, brushing past them to kneel by the soil. Her hands parted the grass, feeling the texture beneath. "If you're serious about building more than huts, you'll need stronger foundations. This earth is soft, but the slope is gentle enough to divert water if we dig channels here."
Kael nodded. "Good eye."
Lorian, sitting nearby on a log, watched the exchange with a mixture of eagerness and frustration. His ribs still ached, his movements were stiff, but his hands itched for work.
"Give me something to do," he muttered.
Kael glanced at him, then at the bandages still peeking beneath his shirt. "You're not lifting timbers yet. But we need more stones. If you can carry smaller ones from the river, that'll help."
Lorian exhaled, relieved. Finally—something he could contribute. He pushed to his feet, grabbing the small basket Kael had set aside.
Sylvara shot him a sidelong glance, her expression unreadable. But she didn't object.
The day settled into rhythm.
Kael directed where each hut would go. Borgu hauled logs with the ease of a man lifting twigs, though he dropped one and sent Sylvara leaping aside with a hissed curse.
"Oops," Borgu said sheepishly, scratching his head. "Wood slippery."
"Your brain is slippery," Sylvara retorted.
"Better slippery than frozen," Borgu fired back, grinning.
Kael cut in before they could escalate. "Focus. Borgu, start stripping bark from the logs. Sylvara, help me mark the frame."
Lorian returned from the river with his basket half full of stones, sweat dripping down his brow. His ribs throbbed, but the sense of usefulness dulled the pain.
"Good," Kael said as Lorian set the basket down. "Keep those coming. We'll use them for the firepit and the base of the walls."
Lorian nodded, catching his breath. For once, Sylvara didn't scold him. She simply handed him a waterskin before turning back to her work.
By midday, the clearing was alive with movement.
Borgu sang an orcish work song, his deep voice shaking the leaves as he hammered logs into the ground. The tune was half nonsense and half roaring, but oddly enough, it set a rhythm for the work.
Sylvara rolled her eyes at first, but by the third verse she was humming under her breath, her hands weaving rope through wooden joints with practiced precision.
Kael worked methodically, his soldier's discipline shaping every motion. He cut beams to precise lengths, checked alignments, and corrected errors with quiet patience.
And Lorian, though slower, pushed himself. Stone after stone, basket after basket, his arms ached but his spirit swelled.
By the time the sun hung low in the sky, the skeletons of two new huts stood upright, their frames lashed together, the earth around them marked with the beginnings of a pathway.
They sat together by the fire that evening, bowls of stew warming their hands, the smell of fresh-cut wood still lingering in the air.
Borgu leaned back with a grin, tusks gleaming. "Hah! Looks like real village now. Next we need tavern. And brewery."
"We barely have roofs," Sylvara said dryly.
"Roof, tavern, same thing!" Borgu declared. "Both keep rain off head."
Lorian snorted into his bowl. Even Sylvara's lips twitched before she quickly hid it with a sip.
Kael gazed at the new structures, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he smiled. A rare, genuine smile.
"This is just the beginning," he murmured.
The fire crackled. The night air was cool, but the warmth between them was undeniable.
They were no longer just survivors huddling in the forest.
They were builders.
Founders.
And though none of them said it aloud, they all felt the same quiet certainty:
Something was starting here. Something that might last.