Deep in the woods, I carved a sanctuary into a sheltered hillside. Using only stone tools and bone, I dug down, piling earth into thick berms around the entrance for insulation and concealment. Walls were lined with woven saplings and packed clay, sealing out drafts. A low, angled roof of layered bark and sod shed rain, while a small, carefully managed central fire pit—vented through a clever rock chimney—filled the compact space with dry warmth. Furs covered the earthen floor, and stored roots lined one wall. This hidden dugout, built with ancient bushcraft wisdom, offered profound security: warm, dry, silent, and utterly invisible—a true primitive haven against the wild.
