Chapter 42 - Chapter 41 - Plans Carved in Wood

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He made his way back to retrieve his notebook and carefully jotted down the day's observations—each plant, each stage of growth—before standing up again and heading toward the cliff. But before going further, he stopped near the group now under Nat's supervision.

Nat noticed him approaching and raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. "You done rest now?" she asked, half-joking.

Athan caught the warmth behind her words and smiled. She was clearly happy to see him back on his feet, even if she wouldn't say it directly.

"Almost," Athan replied with a grin. "But first, I wanted to ask you something. You think you could make a pot?"

Nat blinked. "Pot? Out of wood? No... I no carve well. Fingers bad with blade. Wood always break."

He chuckled. "Not out of wood. I mean with long plant fibers. The kind you gather for rope."

Her head tilted slightly. "Fiber pot? That real?"

"I don't know yet," Athan said with a casual shrug as he knelt down. "Just a passing thought. Might work. Let's try."

In truth, the idea wasn't as sudden as he made it sound. Like many of the things he introduced, it came from memories of a life he could never speak of—not here. But there was no need to explain that. Let them believe it was simple inspiration.

He picked up several long fibers from a nearby bundle. First, he laid a few in a star-shaped pattern, crossing them over each other like spokes on a wheel. Then he took another fiber and began to weave, looping it over and under the base fibers in a tight circle. As the shape formed, others began to pause their work and draw near.

Nat crouched beside him, eyes fixed on his hands. "You never do this?"

"No. First time," Athan said, focused. "But I think it could work. This won't hold water, but maybe good for dry things—herbs, maybe roots, or hold thing, i don't know."

Layer by layer, the basket grew. Once the base was complete, he began to bend the side strands upward, weaving around them to form walls. The process was slow but steady, the circle growing taller with each pass.

"See how it takes shape?" he said.

One of the younger women stepped closer. "Like rope... but not long. Rope that goes up."

"Exactly," Athan nodded. "Over and under. Just keep pulling even."

When the basket reached about sixty centimeters in height, he stopped. With a small stone blade, he trimmed the excess fiber ends and folded the last ones inward, weaving them back into the top edge.

"And done."

He placed the finished basket on the ground. It was simple but sturdy, its sides smooth and even. The gathered women leaned in, inspecting the pattern and feeling the tightness of the weave.

Nat gave a low whistle. "Clever. I not think rope do this."

"Most things can," Athan said with a smirk, "if you ask the right way."

He stood and dusted his hands. "Try it. If you need help, come find me. I leave this one here to look at."

As he turned to leave, Nat called after him, "Why you think this? Make basket from rope?"

He paused, looking back over his shoulder. "Just came to me. Rope strong, soft, bend easy. Felt right."

With that, he continued toward the cliffs, leaving behind a quiet stir of interest and low murmurs as the women began discussing who would try to copy the weave first.

Those would be necessary in the future. While resting, the boy had quietly been planning the next steps of construction, mentally sketching out new improvements and reflecting on the work already accomplished.

He made his way to the bath area and knelt beside Bath 1, running his fingers along the stone edge. The cement had cured nicely—dry and solid, with just a slight roughness where the surface hadn't been completely smoothed. It was cool to the touch, sturdy beneath his hand. He nodded, satisfied. This one was ready.

Turning to Bath 2, which had been built just three days earlier, he could see the difference immediately. The exterior had dried, forming a stable crust, but he knew from experience that the inner layers hadn't yet fully set. He pressed gently against a corner joint. It held firm—but there was still a subtle give, a quiet softness just beneath the surface. The cement was still curing inside. Not quite there yet. But if the weather remained dry, by tomorrow it should be solid enough to continue.

He had already decided on the next step: adding the third and fourth layers of stone. The ones set aside for this phase were roughly uniform, about thirty centimeters tall. Four full levels would bring the bath to a height of about 1.2 meters, not including the thin seams of cement between them. It felt like the right height—deep enough for soaking, but not so tall as to make entry difficult.

He also planned to line the interior with flat stones, forming a continuous bench along the inner walls. A place where people could sit and rest, half-submerged in warm water, without needing to stand the entire time. It would also make getting out of the bath easier—allowing bathers to use the bench as a step before climbing out.

On the outside, he envisioned a set of shallow stone steps, built at an angle to hug the outer wall. These wouldn't just provide easier access—they'd protect the edge of the structure from being worn down by constant climbing, preserving its shape and strength in the long run.

Comfort, safety, foresight—they were just as important as stone and mortar.

It was a small detail, but one that could make a big difference in comfort, especially since his plans were made for the long run—for a clan that would grow, endure, and age in peace or those who worked long hours on construction.

He paused, letting his gaze drift across the structure, imagining what it would look like when finished: steam curling into the morning air, the soft glow of dawn filtering through the leaves above, voices low and content as people soaked in peace.

This wasn't just a bath. It was another step toward something greater—a better life, one small improvement at a time.

Athan made his way toward the kiln, his pace steady and purposeful. As he passed the trench he had dug and coated with cement three days earlier, he slowed just enough to inspect it. The surface was clean—no cracks, no soft spots, no signs of crumbling. The cement had cured well, forming a solid channel just as he'd intended.

Satisfied, he moved on until he reached the kiln. A quiet sense of pride stirred in his chest as he studied its surface. The structure had hardened nicely, its form unchanged by gravity. With luck, by tomorrow, it would be ready for the next three layers of bricks he had planned.

Before turning back, his gaze shifted to the nearby brick tower where he kept his most important materials. A few quick steps brought him to its side, where he knelt and lifted the protective sheet. Underneath, the lime powder remained dry, the surface untouched by moisture despite the recent humidity. The cover had done its job. Relieved, he let the sheet fall back into place and straightened up.

Looking around, Athan made his way to the nearby shelter where he had left the bricks, bowls, and pipes to dry—a small collection of work shaped by his hands just a few days prior. Kneeling beside them, he ran his fingers lightly over the surfaces, feeling for cracks, bends, or uneven textures. The clay had hardened nicely. Most pieces had dried evenly, their shapes holding strong without signs of warping. The weather had stayed warm and dry—ideal conditions—and he estimated they'd be ready for firing in another two days.

He also noticed something else.

The pieces had clearly been cared for—moved, checked, maintained. The bricks were no longer resting in the exact positions he remembered. All of the pipes had been flipped, and they had the wooden support piece removed from their center, allowing for better airflow inside. He smiled faintly, recognizing the careful touch behind it.

Lara and Kali. They'd been turning them each day, making sure no side stayed damp for too long. And judging by the missing wood supports inside the pipe, one of them had taken the initiative to remove them at just the right moment—when the shape was stable enough to hold on its own but still needed time to finish curing.

It was small, but meaningful.

If everything continued to go smoothly, he'd plan the firing in two days. It would be a long process, requiring constant heat and a steady burn. During the next meal, he would ask Lara to start gathering the necessary wood. Better to let her know early—she liked to prepare ahead of time, and he didn't want to interrupt whatever she was focused on when the kiln was finally ready.

From there, the boy made his way toward the toilet conduit he had installed several days earlier. His steps slowed as he neared it, his mind already focused on the cement piece he had attempted to mold in the earth for easier use—a custom addition he had poured with care, designed to improve both comfort and hygiene for the clan.

Kneeling beside the structure, he ran his fingers along the edge of the molded section, brushing away a thin layer of dirt and dust that had gathered over it. The surface was dry, smooth in some places, rough in others where the formwork hadn't been perfect. Tapping it lightly with his knuckle, he listened to the sound it gave back—solid, dense. A good sign, but not conclusive.

He leaned in closer, inspecting for flaws. No visible cracks. No signs of separation between layers. No powdery crumbling at the edges. All of that was promising.

Still, he knew better than to trust the surface alone. The real test would come when he eventually removed the mold. Only then would he know if the piece had cured properly all the way through, or if hidden weaknesses lurked beneath the outer shell.

If it held—if the shape stayed true—it could be something worth repeating. A small innovation, maybe, but one that could make life easier. He had already a lot of idea of where to repeat that process.

Still, he would have to test it by removing the mold to know for sure. If it held, it could become a standard element for future improvements—something simple, repeatable, and useful. But he wasn't in any particular hurry. The piece had dried well so far, and giving it a few more days would only strengthen it.

Besides, the real work on the toilet structure wouldn't begin until the house was finished. That would be the right moment to activate the water system and the organic waste management setup. No need to rush. Everything had its time, and right now, that time belonged to the house.

Thinking about it, Athan glanced at the sun dipping closer to the horizon. Its warm orange glow washed over the treetops, casting long shadows that stretched like dark fingers toward the village. The air had grown cooler, the breeze rustling the grass in soft whispers. With a quiet nod to himself, he headed to the construction site and crouched near the pile of discarded wood.

Most of the pieces were crooked, splintered, or too short for real building work—but for what he had in mind, they were perfect.

He gathered a small bundle in his arms and brought it back to his shelter. Settling onto the ground, Athan began sorting the wood by size and straightness. He picked out the most promising ones, took out his carving knife, and started shaving the rough edges with practiced ease. The sound of the blade slicing through dry wood filled the space around him as notches and grooves took shape under his fingers.

He didn't need a plan. His hands moved with instinct, muscle memory guiding him. Slowly, a small frame began to emerge—a test piece, maybe. Or the start of something bigger. He wasn't sure yet. But he enjoyed this kind of work. It quieted his thoughts.

A rich smell floated through the air—a mix of roasted meat and boiled roots. His stomach growled in response.

"Food's ready!" called Lara, her voice cutting through the wind. "Come before Kali eats everything!"

"I don't eat that much!" Kali shouted behind her, laughing.

Athan chuckled softly, wiped his hands on his tunic, and stood. As he approached the cooking area, a few members of the tribe turned toward him, smiles lighting their faces.

"Good seeing you up," said Ulf, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Was starting to think you grown roots," joked Def with a crooked grin.

Athan gave them a small nod and a faint smile. "Would've been useful. Could've built myself into the shelter."

A few chuckles rippled through the group as he waited in line. The quiet warmth in their gestures—the nods, the pats on the back—wasn't loud, but it was unmistakably sincere. A wordless welcome back.

Once he had his portion, Athan stepped aside and sat down a bit apart from the main group, as he often did. Moments later, two familiar figures joined him—Lara and Kali, settling beside him with matching grins and plates in hand.

"You sit alone again?" Kali asked, chewing on a piece of root. "Or just act weird?"

Athan shrugged. "Just habit. I like watching people more than talking sometimes."

"Hmm," said Lara, tilting her head with a gentle smile. "Then we sit here and let you watch us."

Kali leaned in, lowering her voice. "That sound weird."

Athan snorted into his food. "I meant for learning. Not… whatever you're thinking."

Lara grinned. "We know. But don't think you'll escape conversation that easily."

And just like that, between bites and teasing smiles, the silence around him softened—not broken, but shared.

Lara sat down cross-legged beside him, her thigh brushing against his without a second thought. Kali flopped down on his other side, already chewing on a piece of roasted meat.

"You stand, you eat, you do stuff with wood…" Kali gave him a sideways grin. "You alive again, huh?"

Lara smiled warmly. "We glad to see you up. You had us worried. The fever was big—you burning like a stone left at sun."

Athan looked down for a moment, the weight of their words settling in. He let out a small breath before speaking softly.

"I know. Thank you. Really. For watching over me."

Kali shrugged like it was nothing. "We no let you die. You do many useful things."

Lara laughed, and Athan chuckled, his smile genuine.

"I probably wouldn't have made it through the night without you two," he added, more seriously this time. "Now that my head's clear, I can see that."

There was a short silence between them. Then Lara gently placed her hand on his arm.

"You'd do the same for us."

"Of course," he replied without hesitation.

They kept eating, enjoying the simple food, the shared company, and the fading warmth of the sun. The sky was shifting to cooler shades now, and the breeze carried the scent of earth and ash.

As Athan scraped the last bits from his plate, he glanced at them again.

"In a few days... once the bricks are ready, I want to fire up the kiln again."

"The hot stone thing?" Kali asked, blinking.

He nodded. "Yes. I'll need dry wood. A good amount of it. Not right away, but… would you mind gathering some when you have time? Thin branches, not too thick."

"Of course," Lara said right away. "We'll handle it."

Kali raised her empty bowl. "Okay. But you play flute again tonight. That's deal."

Athan smiled. "Deal."

After the meal, the group slowly began to drift apart. Some returned to their shelters, others to their evening activities. The fire crackled gently behind them as the sky deepened into darker blues. Athan stayed seated a little longer, resting his back against a log, his bowl now empty beside him.

Without a word, he reached for the flute resting inside his shelter and brought it to his lips. A soft, gentle melody floated into the air, weaving between the trees like smoke. The notes were smooth, unhurried—echoes of calm, of safety, of home.

Kali perked up at the sound and scooted closer, her eyes wide. "Play more," she said quickly. "I like it."

Lara smiled, tucking her legs underneath her as she sat beside them. "You've been playing more song," she said softly. "It's... soothing."

Athan gave a small nod and continued playing, letting one melody flow into another. After a few minutes, he lowered the flute and looked at Kali.

"You still want to learn?" he asked.

Kali nodded eagerly. "Yes. Show me again?"

He handed her the flute, adjusting her grip slightly. "Like this. Fingers here. And remember breathe slowly—don't blow too hard."

She tried. The first sound was more of a squeak than a note, and Lara couldn't help but laugh. Kali frowned, cheeks puffed.

"Not funny."

"Sorry," Lara said, still smiling. "It was cute."

Athan gently guided Kali again. "It takes time. Just try to feel the sound. Not push it."

Kali gave it another go. This time, the note was clearer—still shaky, but real. Her eyes lit up.

"I did it?"

"You did," Athan said. "Now again. This one."

They practiced like that a little longer, eventually, Kali yawned and handed the flute back—but then paused.

"I take it?" she asked, eyes hopeful.

Athan raised an eyebrow. "You want to keep practicing?"

She nodded quickly. "Yes. I try more. Quiet. No loud sounds."

Lara chuckled. "You're serious about this, aren't you?"

Kali grinned. "I get better. You see."

Athan handed her the flute with a small smile. "Alright. Be careful with it."

"I will," she said, hugging it close like it was something precious. Then she stood, looked around, and wandered a short distance toward the fire.

They could still hear her now and then—soft breaths, a shaky note, a short curse under her breath—before it quieted again.

Athan chuckled to himself and turned back to his small pile of wood.

He returned to his spot near the shelter using the fire as light. Its warm light even at a distance illuminate the wooden pieces he'd sorted earlier. Sitting cross-legged, he began shaping them one by one, his knife working steadily, patiently.

Piece after piece, he carved, fitting each into place. Thin supports, a curved frame, a pair of narrow side panels—his hands never paused. He wasn't rushing, but he wanted to see it finished before sleep took him.

By the time he was done, the stars were bright overhead and the village was quiet. Athan leaned back slightly, wiping his hands on a cloth. In front of him sat a small wooden model—rough but clear in form.

A miniature version of the three cabin toilets he planned to install. A simple, raised structure, shaped to rest neatly over the cement ring he had poured days ago.

It wasn't much. But it was a start.

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The next morning, Athan rose with the girls and walked with them to the waterfall basin, carrying the new scale model under one arm. The morning air was crisp, filled with the scent of damp leaves and earth. The surface of the pond shimmered with a thin veil of mist, drifting lazily above the water like a ghostly curtain.

They washed in silence, the chill of the water enough to chase away the last traces of sleep. It was peaceful—calm and quiet in the way only early mornings could be. Afterward, once they had dried up, Athan gave the girls a short nod and a few quiet words of parting, then turned toward the soon to be heart of the village.

At the construction site, the low murmur of men at work filled the space. The steady thud of hatchets striking wood echoed in rhythm, blending with The chirping of birds and the occasional creak of logs being shifted mingled with the quiet murmur of conversation.

Upon arrival, he spotted Ok, Athan made his way to him with purposeful steps. He didn't speak—he simply extended the model forward, resting it in Ok's hands.

Ok blinked, then took it carefully, the way one might receive something fragile or sacred. His fingers traced the edges, eyes scanning every joint, every angle. The smooth cuts and precision spoke for themselves. He turned the model slowly in his calloused hands, his expression shifting from surprise to admiration, and then to curiosity. His voice broke the silence with a rush of questions.

"You made this last night?" he asked, squinting at the frame. "How it holds? These beams—how?"

"And this angle," added Yun, appearing at Ok's shoulder and pointing with a thick finger. "Water go faster like this?"

Athan raised both hands with a quiet laugh. "Come," he said simply, turning on his heel and beckoning them.

Yun and Wade exchanged glances, then set down their tools, curiosity piqued. They followed without hesitation, boots crunching on dry leaves and dirt as they moved past the growing structure of the house.

They reached the cement basin—the foundation Athan had poured days ago. Dew clung to its edges, glittering in the morning light. Athan stepped ahead of them, crouched near a flat stone, and brushed away a few fallen leaves. Then he carefully set the model down, positioning it with precision.

"This structure," Athan said, pointing to the miniature building, "will sit over the basin. It's meant to enclose it completely."

He removed the roof piece, revealing the interior with slow, deliberate movements, like unveiling something sacred. Inside, the layout was clear: three small, evenly spaced cabins, each neatly outlined and sized just right.

"There will be three private cabins inside. Each one will have a door that starts a few centimeters off the ground and goes all the way up to the roof. That way, no one can see inside while it's being used. It gives the women—and anyone else—privacy."

He tapped the middle compartment gently. "Each cabin will have a wooden toilet seat mounted over a drop box. The box opens directly into the basin underneath. We'll burn the surface so the wood doesn't rot too fast. Sometimes in the future I want to make something a bit more permanent but for now this would do."

The men leaned in instinctively, heads close together, their expressions focused. Ok crouched to get a better angle. Wade remained standing, arms crossed, studying the whole setup with a critical eye. Yun scratched his chin, nodding slowly.

"Once waste enters the basin," Athan continued, voice calm but sure, "the water we'll redirect from the river will carry it out through the trench we already dug, far past the walls and into the forest. The flow won't be strong, but it will be steady."

He reached out and tapped the slanted roof of the model. "And when it rains, water will hit the roof and run off straight into the entrance side of the basin. That prevents any buildup or puddles on either side of the canal."

Standing, he took a step back, letting them take it in fully now. "It's simple, but clean. Efficient. And it means no more going out into the woods for this anymore. Especially important as the clan grows, and for the safety and dignity of the women."

Ok scratched his beard, eyes never leaving the model. "This good. Real good."

Yun pointed again, tapping lightly on the open top. "We build wall first?"

"We start with frame," Athan corrected gently. "Then walls, roof, and seats. We'll check the fit before locking anything in place."

Wade stayed quiet for a few seconds, staring at the model as if trying to picture the full structure finished. "You sure it works?"

Athan gave a confident nod. "It will. We just need to build it right."

Once that done, he turn away preparing to return to is job after a couple days of rest.