High in the sturdy branches, I wove my survival nest—a true treetop haven. Using fallen limbs, supple vines, and masses of dry leaves, I lashed and layered against the elements. It wasn’t just a platform; it was elevation, safety from ground predators, and crucial insulation. Rain threatened, so I thatched the roof thick, ensuring water would shed. Climbing in felt like entering a primal fortress—exposed yet protected, vulnerable yet secure. As dusk fell, curled in my leafy cradle, the forest sounds below became a lullaby. This nest wasn’t just shelter; it was my defiant claim on the wild, built with calloused hands and raw determination.
