Deep in the whispering pines, he felled sturdy logs, notching them precisely. With blistered hands and quiet resolve, he stacked them wall-high. He gathered fieldstone from the cold earth, shaping each piece to fit the roaring hearth he envisioned. Moss filled the chinks, bark shingles crowned the roof, and river clay sealed the gaps. Smoke soon curled from the chimney, weaving through ancient branches. Inside, the rough-hewn timbers held warmth, the stone hearth held firelight, and the silence held a profound peace. It wasn’t just shelter; it was a testament, built log by heavy log, stone by stubborn stone, against the wild heart of the forest.
