Days passed, and the rain finally eased. When the first warm sunlight broke through the clouds, it felt like the whole village exhaled. Steam rose from the damp earth, and children ran barefoot through puddles, laughing. Anna and Kate stepped outside their hut, stretching their legs and enjoying the sudden brightness.
They soon noticed that many villagers had gathered in a loose circle near the largest hut. Voices rose and fell as they talked animatedly, gesturing toward the village center, toward the wooded slopes, and toward Anna's hut.
Anna nudged Kate gently.
"Let's just watch," she whispered, unsure of what was happening.
The villagers continued discussing something with surprising intensity. Then—almost as one—they began moving. Women and men both walked toward the base of the mountains, picking up stones of all sizes. Others brought armfuls of mud and strips of dry grass. A few began clearing a flat patch of earth beside the large hut.
Anna blinked.
Are… are they building something?
She stepped forward, curiosity tugging her feet closer. Kate followed, clutching her hand.
The elder lady—the same one who had first offered them food—approached with her familiar warm smile. She pointed first at Anna's small stone fireplace… then at the growing pile of rocks near the large hut… then back at Anna.
Her eyes sparkled with understanding.
They were copying her.
They were building one of their own.
Anna's breath caught for a moment, a strange mix of pride and relief swelling in her chest.
The elder squeezed her arm gently, nodding as if to say, You taught us something good.
Anna smiled back—wide, grateful, happy.
They didn't need full language to understand this exchange.
She had helped them—just a little, but enough to matter.
Kate looked up at her mother and whispered,
"Mom… they're making a fire house like ours."
Anna nodded softly.
"Yes… and that means we're doing okay here."
For the first time since arriving, she felt not just like a guest in the village—
but like someone who belonged enough to make a difference.
As the villagers worked together on the new sheltered fireplace, Anna felt the village shift into a steady, harmonious rhythm. The men carried stones with practiced strength, piling them beside the cleared patch of ground. A few older men shaped the stones, tapping and fitting them, clearly studying the design she had created days earlier.
Meanwhile, two women approached Anna with gentle smiles and tapped her arm, then pointed toward the forest. They carried vine-woven baskets on their hips—an invitation.
Anna nodded and called softly, "Kate, come on, sweetheart."
Kate ran over, her face bright from playing chase with the village children. She slipped her hand into her mother's, and together they followed the women toward the forest's edge.
The air smelled fresh after the long rain, leaves dripping softly. Birds called overhead. The women spoke among themselves, voices light and relaxed, occasionally pointing to a tree or bush as they walked. One of them plucked a round, yellowish fruit, sniffed it, then placed it gently in Anna's basket, repeating a simple word slowly.
Anna repeated it back, trying her best. The women giggled approvingly.
Soon, Kate joined in, copying the sounds with her tiny voice. The women praised her, patting her head, and Kate glowed proudly.
Behind them, two boys darted between trees, pretending to hunt each other with sticks. Villagers' lives continued naturally around them—children played, women gathered, and men kept returning from the mountain with more stones for the new fireplace.
Anna glanced back once. Kehnu was there, lifting a large stone onto his shoulder with ease. When he noticed her watching, he gave a small, warm smile before returning to his work.
She felt a soft flutter in her chest—unexpected, but gentle.
As she and the women filled their baskets with fruit, roots, and wild greens, Anna realized how seamlessly she and Kate had slipped into the village's daily rhythm. The forest gathering felt calm, safe… almost like a routine she could grow used to.
When they returned, the pile of stones near the large hut had doubled, and men were mixing mud with straw—replicating exactly what she had done.
As they moved deeper along the forest edge, chatting in their soft, melodic language, Anna stepped into a shallow puddle—expecting just wet mud.
But her foot slid almost sideways.
She caught herself with a sharp inhale, steadying the basket on her hip.
"Ah—careful," she muttered to herself.
The women turned at the sound, but seeing she was fine, they continued walking. Anna, however, looked down again. Something about the texture… it wasn't normal mud. It clung to her foot in thick layers, silky and heavy. She crouched and pressed her fingers into it.
It was smooth. Cool. Dense.
Clay.
Her eyes widened.
Clay.
Her mind raced. Clay means pottery… pots, bowls, storage containers… even a real cooking pot. She swallowed, excitement fluttering through her chest.
Her memories flashed—those childhood school days, shaping small figurines with classmates. She remembered the cold feel of clay between her fingers, the soft scraping tools… but the teacher had always taken them to be baked. She never saw the actual kiln. Still… the basics? She remembered enough to try.
She glanced around. The spot wasn't far from the gathering area. The puddle seemed to appear naturally where the ground dipped.
If I mark it… or remember that crooked tree and the mossy rock… I can come back.
She dug her fingers into the clay once more, feeling its weight.
I could make simple bowls by hand. Leave them to dry. Then fire them in my little stone oven…
Her heart thumped faster.
This could change everything.
Containers for food. Pots for boiling water. Storage jars. Even cups. Real tools.
She wiped her hand on a leaf and hurried to catch up to the women, her eyes still drifting back to the clay patch.
For now, she focused on gathering fruit and greens with them—but her mind spun with possibilities.
The next time she came back alone… she would gather clay.
And maybe—just maybe—she could give the tribe something even more useful than her stone fireplace.