The third day passed with a strange calm, as if nature itself had begun to accept my presence here. No danger had appeared since the last howl I heard, and the night passed peacefully. I began waking naturally with the first rays of dawn, breathing the crisp cold air and starting my daily resource-gathering rounds.
Now, my small base looked more organized:
Piles of small stones — about fifty ready to use.
Large heaps of dry herbs — for fuel and makeshift ropes.
Three clean rabbit hides — usable for a bag or light clothing.
A decent amount of berries — enough to last several days without hunting.
A large flint stone — today's most important discovery.
I sat by the fire, examining the new stone I had found near the river. Its dark gray color, hard and durable surface, and sharp edges seemed made for cutting. I realized this was exactly what I needed to craft my first primitive axe.
I began working, striking the stone with another, carefully removing excess parts, trying to shape one end sharp enough to be a blade. The process took a long time; my fingers ached, my shoulders strained from focusing, but something inside me kept pushing me forward — perhaps the thought that this axe would be my first real tool, my first step toward complete independence.
Finally, after much effort, I looked at the shaped stone before me — imperfect, but it resembled the head of a primitive axe. I smiled. I grabbed a sturdy branch from one of the dry trees and tied the stone to it using carefully braided, damp plant fibers. I tightened the knots until it was completely secure.
I lifted the axe in my hands and looked at it proudly — weapon, tool, achievement. It wasn't just a stone tied to wood; it was a small declaration that I had begun learning to craft everything I needed with my own hands.
But before celebrating too much, I thought about the next phase: wood.If I wanted to build a proper shelter, I'd need at least twenty large logs. That would be tomorrow's priority. Perhaps I'd start by cutting smaller trees first to test the new axe's strength, then gather dry branches for the floor and roof.
As the sun set, I sat by the fire, watching its glow dance on the face of the new axe. The howling returned in the distance — the same familiar sound, as if observing me from the shadows. I no longer felt fear as I once did; now it was a routine warning, reminding me that this world did not spare the weak.
I smiled faintly as I prepared for sleep:
"Today, a tool was born… and tomorrow, a shelter will be born."
The third day ended peacefully, but tomorrow promised to be full of work — and wood.