I don't need to fully replace the old boards on the house—just cover them up with new ones. The pillar in the center, though, has to go. I'll need to remove it completely. As for what's left of the roof, that's the top priority: it needs to be fully torn down and replaced. The floor could use a replacement too, but I think I can live with it for a while if I'm going to move in soon.
The exterior isn't too bad. There are a few areas, especially around the windows and the roof, where new boards are needed to cover damaged spots—but otherwise, it's manageable.
I set my bucket and the pouch of meat inside the house—cleared of snow—and went outside, axe in hand, to fell a tree. I began swinging, the crude stone blade smacking against the bark again and again. It was tough—the axe kept getting stuck. I had to brace the tree with my foot and wiggle the head free repeatedly. Eventually, I made enough progress for the tree to start cracking. I gave it one final push, sending it toppling away from the house, then sprinted back—just in case it came my way. I had no intention of getting crushed.
Now came the hard part. I remembered something from Eloise's journal—something about lumbering. If I made the right cuts, I could wedge the log and split it open. My axe isn't great, so using wedges would be a big help.
But I couldn't just jam a wedge into a solid log. I needed to prepare the tree. I started chopping about half a foot above the root, angling my cuts to remove a wedge-shaped piece—something resembling a triangle.
It didn't come out looking like a triangle, not really. Just a splintered chunk of wood, thanks to my crappy axe. But it was good enough. I grabbed a rock with a sharp side and a flat end—roughly triangular—and placed it into the notch I carved. Then I went searching for a bigger rock—I wasn't about to hit it with my brittle axe or my foot.
I found one. It was heavy—painfully so—and dragging it back to the tree was exhausting. When I finally managed to lift it and rest it on the trunk, my back cracked under the strain. It hurt like hell. Not as bad as the wolf bite, though. I glanced at my wound. It wasn't fully healed, but scar tissue was starting to form.
I raised the heavy rock and dropped it onto the sharp stone embedded in the tree. It drove in a bit deeper—not much, but enough. I'd need to repeat this process over and over to split the log. And to make usable lumber for the house, I'd need to split it lengthwise. I looked down at the tree—about 30 feet long. The house is only about 15 feet tall. I'd need to cut it again, down the middle. This wasn't going to be a one-day job.
By the time I split the log in two, the sun was already low. Only a couple of hours left until nightfall. I'd eaten through most of the meat I brought and drank most of my water. I gathered my things and walked toward the frozen lake, stomped through the ice, and scooped a bucketful of water. Then I started heading back.
It got darker and darker as I walked. Eventually, the sun disappeared, and snow began to fall. I picked up the pace, adjusting the bucket and drawing my spear. As I ran, I started seeing things—visions in my peripheral vision. A monster with a deer skull. I heard scratching on trees. Growls. Footsteps behind me, beside me, in front of me. I didn't care—I just needed to get back home.
Then, something changed. I noticed the feel of the snow underfoot—it was different. These were my footprints from this morning. I followed them, hoping they'd lead me back to the cave. My eyes had adjusted somewhat to the dark—I could see about 15 meters ahead. But the sounds remained. Scratching, growling. Shapes moving just beyond my vision. Deer skulls. Long claws. Gaunt, corpse-like bodies.
And then I saw it—just outside my field of vision, about 17 meters ahead. Tall, lanky. One arm braced on a tree, ten meters up. The other pressed into the snow. I stopped. Set the bucket down. Raised my spear.
"If this is how I die," I said aloud, "then I'll die fighting."
But it didn't move.
Suddenly, more movement—in every direction. Deer skulls, always just out of clear sight. Was I going mad? I spun in circles, spear raised, heart pounding.
Finally, I struck a match. The flicker of fire gave me just enough light to see: there was nothing there. Just trees. My imagination—paranoia—getting the better of me.
I picked up the bucket and hurried back to the cave. Once there, I drank deeply, then stepped outside to relieve myself. Afterward, I wrapped up in my wolf-pelt cloak and fell asleep. Surprisingly warm. I was finally adjusting to the cold.
The next morning:
I woke to find the entrance blocked by snow. My makeshift door had been buried. I had to kick through it with both feet, breaking it in the process. I spent some time clearing the snow with a flat rock, then realized I'd need firewood again—time to fell another tree.
Back inside, I found the bucket of water had frozen solid. I filled it with snow instead, then suspended it over the campfire using a sturdy stick. I spun one stick against another for friction, using birch bark and twigs to build the flame. It worked—I got a good fire going, and soon the snow was melting.
I went through my morning routine: relieving myself, checking traps, training with the crude spear, and planning the day. Today's goal was to use Eloise's Journal and the magic quill to draft a blueprint for the repaired house. Then I'd return to splitting logs—and maybe chop more trees to get ahead.
This time, I counted every step on the way back to the lake house. I figured that each step was roughly one second. 10,255 steps divided by 60 twice gave me 2.84—about 2 hours and 44 minutes to get there.
When I arrived, I cleared the snow from the house and stood for a moment, examining the ruins. I didn't want that pillar in the center like before. Maybe I could use support beams across the ceiling instead. I thought about using thinner wood or hay, but no. It snows too much here. The wind is brutal. That kind of roof wouldn't hold. Maybe if I used bargeboards on both ends of the house... it might be strong enough.