— I sense he may worsen in this heat. — Falazahr stated, her voice cleaving the oppressive air. — Heridor needs shade that won't shift as the hours pass.
Falazahr observed Heridor; his skin, pallid from blood loss, was starting to take on a dangerously reddish hue beneath the merciless sun. She knew, somehow, that her companion's weakened condition was compounded by fatigue and intense light. She had summoned an individual and two other men.
— The moment I was born, a large thorn pierced my foot as I walked. — The woman tilted her extremity, exhibiting it to Falazahr. — I thought to squeeze some herbs, and that fixed it, I believe.
Falazahr noticed that the injury's scar resembled that of a substantial spike; however, its location on the sole suggested the stepped-upon thorn had gone right through. — Intriguing… — she commented, her gaze unwavering.
— What perplexes you? — the woman questioned, Falazahr's remark seeming odd to her.
— I request that you aid him… — she directed her own body toward Heridor. Her ally was resting beneath the canopy, seated among the tree's exposed roots in the ground. — Apply these herbs to the injured shoulder; I believe they will hasten the sore's recovery.
The female nodded and set out for other sections of the thicket, attempting to recall the flora she had employed to mend her own wound.
Meanwhile, the party proceeded toward the wood's fringe, where the growth became a tangle of forms they had never encountered. The work was demanding. They did not possess metal axes, only flaked stones and their own muscular effort. Falazahr moved to a type of woody plant with a fibrous trunk, whose boughs were straight and rigid.
— Those ones! — she indicated.
They collected the fallen limbs and strained to snap those still hanging, cracking the filaments. The pieces of timber were thick, appearing like juvenile trunks, weighty, and coated with a rugged surface that chafed their palms. The effort was tremendous. Each section of wood carried away carved a shallow rut in the dark, yielding mud, marking the presence of humankind.
While the men labored on the framework, Falazahr sought covering material. She located a sapling with unique foliage: large, emerald, and as broad as a man's torso, featuring a texture similar to wax, perfect for shielding against both sun and precipitation.
Further along, the contingent discovered an enormous climbing plant coiled around the shafts of aged trees. Its strands were dusky and pliable, yet strong as ligaments. One of the men used a sharpened rock to sever the ends, extracting meters of highly resistant natural rope. They wrapped the filaments around their forearms, feeling the sticky sap of the creeper adhere to their skin. It was as though they were battling nature for survival; every fragment of timber, leaf, straw, or fiber was taken from the forest mercilessly. They did not petition the woods for consent; they seized what was required to ensure the first of their species did not succumb to thermal exhaustion.
Heridor witnessed the entire process from his "observation post." He was propped against the pronounced roots of a vast tree, under the welcoming shade of the branches. His right shoulder, now a throbbing stump pulsating with his heartbeat, distressed him, but he was wholly fixed on the dwelling being erected.
Falazahr directed the building. She instructed the men to set the stoutest boughs into the earth, forming an angled support that met at the apex. The noise of their exertions was a steady rhythm of splitting and labored breathing. One of them climbed onto another's shoulders to reach the highest point of the structure and bind the heavy pieces with creepers.
The securing process demanded meticulousness. The fibers were wrapped in exceptionally tight coils and crossed in an "X" pattern, guaranteeing that air currents would not topple the roof. Falazahr, her hands already injured and oozing blood, displayed no hesitation. She tightened the bindings with her teeth when her grasp could no longer bear it.
Once the fundamental structure proved solid, they began affixing the large fronds. Falazahr showed them how to layer the foliage, moving from bottom to top, like a fish's scales or, ironically, like the Stone-Hide's plates that had nearly killed her. They punctured the edges of the leaves with small, pointed twigs and threaded the thin strands of the vine through, stitching the covering to the wooden framework.
The hut was nearly finished, a pyramidal shape in shades of green and sepia. At first glimpse, it resembled a natural elevation, a slight rise in the earth, but the evenness and arrangement revealed the deliberate touch of the human hand. Heridor saw their commitment; they were not simply crafting shelter for him, they were raising the initial monument to their own endurance in this realm. Every attached leaf was a repudiation of demise. The gloom inside the dwelling, conspicuous through the narrow entrance, felt comforting, as if night itself had been imprisoned there in broad daylight.
As perspiration streamed down the laborers' faces, Heridor's throat felt parched. Gazing beyond his protective roots, he noted a cluster of small, dusky spheres hanging from a climbing plant, enjoying the sapling's shade. They appeared like grapes, but bore a shade of purple so intense it bordered on black.
With his single remaining hand—the left one—he grasped the produce. They were cool to the touch. With the dexterity he still retained, he fashioned a container. First, he lined a hollow in a piece of decaying wood with a wild banana leaf, creating a clean, "waterproof" receptacle.
He dropped the berries into the vessel. Utilizing a smooth, heavy fragment of a bough, he commenced pressing the fruits against the bottom. The sound of the husks cracking released a delicious fragrance—a blend of fermented wine and the scent of rain-soaked soil. Heridor toiled, focused and calm, transforming the physical exertion into something almost therapeutic.
Slowly, a thick, dark fluid accumulated at the bottom of the banana leaf, packed with the vital energy of those spheres. He was uncertain if it was safe to consume, but a keen instinct told him that color—the dark hue of the forest's heart—held the components he needed to replenish his lost lifeblood.