I felt a surge of masculinity as I completed my hut; thick trees not unlike bamboo, which were very difficult to cut down. I’m right handed, and my arm shot with pain everytime the axe made contact due to the steadily healing gashes in my arm. The scabs themselves were sharp into the muscle… The first 2 days, I could not even move it, my fingers needed retrained, and they would grow stiff and painful around the axe handle, but it was necessary.. If I had laid and grown stagnant, I feared I might die.
I had another two nights of fevers following the initial piranha attack, the first night of the attack, and again the first time I put a strain on my arm attempting to get work done.
The finished product of my labors stood before me, though, sturdy and proud. It was not very big at all, for the strain of work was still exhausting, threatening fever anytime I would get winded. It was twice the size of the old lean-to, in its old place. I could stand in it, had long leaves layed down as a bed, and my bowl, tools laid against the modest wall. No door, but hinges were difficult when it came to holding up the heavy wood, despite part of the door being thatch.
Finally, I had a place that felt like home; small, but home.
Explorer's Wrotes 