Morning arrived with a soft breeze drifting through the crude woven door. The warmth from the fire had faded, leaving only gray embers. My body ached less today, and Kate seemed more lively as she stretched.
"We need food for the next days," I told her. "Fruit is good, but we need something stronger. Meat… if we can get it."
Her eyes widened a little. "Like the snake?"
I smiled gently. "Hopefully something less… scary this time."
After drinking water from the bamboo bottle, we stepped outside. The sky was cloudy but calm, and the forest under the mountain looked quiet. Birds chirped in the distance. More importantly, I spotted something on the ground—little paw prints in the mud, small and light.
"Rabbit," I whispered. "Or something close."
Kate bent down beside me. "Can we catch it?"
"We can try."
I scanned the area. There were roots and vines everywhere—nature ready to be shaped. My grandparents had told me things… old stories, old tricks for small animals, even if they never expected I would use them like this.
I found a long bendy branch, shaped like a bow. A thinner vine, strong and flexible, would work as a cord. Using my stone knife, I trimmed and shaped the bent wood into a springy arc.
"What are you making?" Kate asked, curious.
"A simple snare trap," I said. "The rabbit puts its head in, steps wrong… and the stick will pull it up."
She watched every movement, eager to learn. Her presence made me work slower but more carefully—each mistake could cost us days of hunger.
I found a sturdy root near the ground, perfect to anchor the trap. Using the vine, I tied the bent branch down, twisting and pulling until it strained. At the end of the vine, I shaped a small noose.
"See?" I held it up. "The rabbit walks in. Pulls the bait. And the noose lifts it."
"What bait?"
"Leaves it likes… or fruit. Let's check."
Together we searched the forest floor. Beneath broad-leaf bushes we found small yellow berries—safe, mildly sweet, something small animals loved. I placed a few near the trap entrance, and one deep inside the loop.
Kate set one berry very carefully. "For good luck," she whispered.
I smiled and kissed her forehead.
We stepped back, hiding behind a log, watching silently. Birds fluttered in the trees. Wind rustled branches. For a long time, nothing happened.
"It might take a few hours," I murmured. "Or it might not work today."
"Should we go gather food?"
"Yes. And then check the trap later."
We gathered more guava, picked some wild greens, and filled both bamboo bottles at the spring near the cave. My hands were scratched again, but pain felt like part of surviving now.
Returning to the trap later, I slowed. There was movement—branches snapped out of place.
"Wait," I whispered to Kate. "Stay behind me."
I crept closer. The vine was shaking slightly. The bent branch was pulled upright.
The trap had sprung.
Holding my breath, I moved closer until I saw it: a small rabbit-like creature dangling above ground, caught by the loop around its middle. It struggled weakly, still alive.
Kate gasped softly. "We caught it…"
I felt relief wash over my tired bones. Meat. Protein. Warmth. This would help us survive.
But as I approached, I felt something heavier—guilt. The small animal blinked at me, frightened.
"We need to eat," I whispered, almost to myself. "We need to live."
I tightened my grip on the stone knife.
"Close your eyes, Kate."
She obeyed immediately, pressing her face against my side.
The rabbit squeaked once, then fell silent.
My hands trembled for a moment, but only a moment. Survival required strength. And I had someone to protect.
We carried the animal back, cleaned it carefully at the water, and prepared it with taro and wild greens. The smell of cooking meat filled the cave by afternoon.
Kate ate slowly, savoring every bite. Her cheeks finally had a little color again.
"This tastes… like real food," she murmured, smiling faintly.
"Yes," I said softly. "Today, we did well."
When night fell, I sat at the cave entrance again, spear across my lap. The forest was quiet. Safer. Just for a moment, I allowed myself to breathe deeply.
We were learning. Adapting. Surviving.
Tomorrow, I would set two traps.
And maybe explore deeper into the mountain forest.
The rain from the day before had left the ground soft and the air heavy with the smell of wet leaves. When she woke, the cave still felt damp. Drops clung to the ceiling, occasionally falling onto the packed earth floor. The crude door of sticks and vines had kept out most of the weather… but not enough. A thin line of water had trickled in during the night, leaving a small muddy patch where her daughter slept.
She frowned at it. If the rains get stronger, this whole entrance will leak.
"Come," she said softly, helping her daughter up. "We need to make the door better."
Outside, the world glistened. Ferns dripped. Leaves shivered under droplets. And just a few paces down the slope, the soil was wet enough to collect mud easily.
She knelt, digging her fingers into the cool, sticky earth.
"Will this help?" her daughter asked, trying to scoop her own handful but dropping most of it on her toes.
"Yes. We'll make the door stronger. No more water inside."
Together they carried handfuls of mud back to the cave. She pressed it into the woven sticks, coating every small gap, smoothing it with her palms. The mud clung well—heavy, messy, but effective. Her daughter giggled at how their hands turned completely brown.
"Look, Mama! I'm a little mud monster!"
"Good," she said, smiling for the first time that morning. "Scary monsters help keep the rain out."
They kept working, grabbing more mud, smearing it thickly until the crude door became one solid, rough surface. When the sun came higher, the mud began to dry slightly, tightening the structure.
"It might get hard like clay," she murmured, testing the edges. "This could actually work."
Inside the cave, she pushed the door into place. It fit snugly now, much more sealed than before. A few droplets still leaked around the edges, but it would hold far better against wind and rain.
Her daughter leaned on her arm.
"Now it feels more like a home."
She exhaled slowly.
"Maybe it does."
They sat at the cave entrance for a moment, listening to the distant forest insects, the dripping branches, and somewhere far off, a bird calling. The storm clouds were gone; sunlight filtered through the canopy again.
They weren't safe. They weren't comfortable. But the cave was getting better—step by step. And for now, that was enough.