Alone in the whispering woods, I built my sanctuary from nothing. No crew, no plans beyond instinct—just my hands, sweat, and the forest’s bounty. I felled trees, peeled bark, notched logs. My muscles screamed, blisters burst, but each stone laid, each beam raised, was pure creation. Rain soaked me; sun burned me. Yet, shaping walls from raw timber, crafting a roof from branches, I forged more than shelter—I forged resilience. Now, smoke curls from my stone chimney, a quiet testament: this haven, born of solitude and grit, is wholly mine. Every splinter sings of self-reliance.
