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Chapter 43 - Two Days, Two Wheels
🕑 Added 2025-05-10 21:00:05 +0000 UTCBy the time Athan and Wade made their way back toward the shelters, the scent of roasted roots and herbs hung in the air. Smoke rose gently from the firepit, and the low crackle of flames mixed with the distant hum of the forest. The sun had dipped below the treetops now, bathing the village in amber light.
Lara and Kali were already there, crouched near the fire, arranging wooden bowls and stirring the cooking pot. Their hair was damp with sweat, and both looked flushed from effort, but content.
When Lara spotted them, she gave a wave. "Just in time."
Kali turned, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "We made food. You sit. Eat."
Athan offered a tired smile, walking closer. "Smells better than anything I've seen all day."
"We worked hard too, you know," Kali added, grinning as she passed him a bowl. "All that wood—many trips."
"I saw," Athan said sincerely. "You didn't stop."
"We wanted to help," Lara said, sitting beside him. "It's not much, but if it means things move faster…"
"It means a lot," Athan replied. He looked between the two of them, his voice quieter now. "Really."
They ate together, the fire warming their backs as twilight settled in. The food was simple—roots, a bit of foraged greens, and some dried meat—but after the long day, it tasted like a feast.
Wade sat nearby, eating in silence as usual, but clearly more relaxed now. He glanced toward Athan a few times, as if checking that the boy was truly resting, for once.
After the meal, as the others slowly drifted into quiet conversation, Athan sat a little apart, his fingers already fidgeting with a few small pieces of wood he'd collected earlier.
He glanced toward the pile of firewood the girls had delivered—neatly stacked near the old kiln site. Their effort hadn't gone unnoticed. He thought back to their steady pace, the repeated trips, the way they hadn't waited to be asked twice.
And an idea began to take shape.
He reached into his shelter and pulled out his carving knife and a few flat slats of wood. With the firelight casting flickering shadows around him, Athan began carving slowly, his movements careful and measured.
A new model. A project not just for the builders—but for the whole clan.
After the meal, as the fire settled into glowing embers and the sky deepened into shades of purple and blue, Athan sat a little apart from the others, cross-legged on a flat stone. In his lap lay a few pieces of scrap wood and his carving knife. His body was tired, but his mind wouldn't rest. He had seen how many trips the girls had made, carrying heavy bundles of wood—over and over, without complaint.
And that gave him an idea.
He began cutting small lengths of wood, carving them down slowly and carefully. The first pieces were flat and narrow, like thin boards. Others were shaped into rods or rounded slightly on one side. As he worked, he reached occasionally into a small pouch and pulled out tiny wooden wedges—slivers he had shaved the day before, already prepared for use.
No nails. No bindings.
Just interlocking joints and wedges—tight fits that, once in place, would hold strong under weight and movement. The same method he had used for the house. The same idea he had used for the wheelbarrow.
He began fitting the pieces together, sliding joints into slots, tapping in wedges gently with the butt of his carving knife. A frame began to form—a flat base, reinforced with crossbeams and supported by two narrow rods.
Kali appeared beside him not long after, crouching with her chin on her knees. She watched him in silence for a bit before asking, "What is it?"
Athan didn't look up. "You'll see soon."
Lara joined next, drying her hands on a cloth. She sat beside them, her gaze following the growing shape in his hands.
"Another model?"
He nodded. "Yes. Something useful. For carrying things."
They watched as he added two round wooden discs near the bottom of the frame. He drilled small holes through the center and slid them onto a thin axle he'd carved, securing them between two stops so they could turn. They spun smoothly, balanced despite their simplicity.
Kali leaned in. "It move."
Lara tilted her head. "It's like the wheelbarrow… but different. No basket. Long handles. And two wheels."
Athan adjusted the frame slightly, lifted it by the handles, and set it down again. "It's not pushed," he explained. "It's pulled. From the front. It spreads the weight across the frame."
He pointed to the joints, now tight with wedges. "We use wedge. Just pressure. Like the wheelbarrow and the house. If one part breaks, we can replace it without taking everything apart."
Kali blinked. "We pull it? With arms?"
"Yes," Athan said, glancing toward the pile of firewood they had carried earlier. "It's for moving loads. More than what someone can carry alone."
Lara ran a finger along the flat base of the model. "So simple. But smart."
"I saw you work hard," Athan said softly, eyes distant. "With this not so hard."
There was a brief silence.
Then Lara smiled. "Once you build, next time we bring wood, we try it."
Kali grinned. "We go fast. Like deer."
Athan chuckled. "More like turtles with wheels. But yes—we'll go faster."
And under the calm night sky, with stars above and the fire gently fading, a simple wooden model sat between them—one more step toward making life just a little easier for everyone.
As the fire died down and the stars settled into their steady glow, the small group began to drift off toward their shelters. Athan carefully tucked it inside their own, setting it near most of his tools.
He was sore, but satisfied.
Wade said nothing, just gave him a silent nod before heading to his own sleeping space nearby.
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By the time morning came, the sun filtered through the trees in long golden rays, casting shifting patterns across the clearing. Athan rose early, as usual—and like the day before, his father fell into step behind him without a word.
It wasn't surprising anymore.
They made their way across the village, the cool air still clinging to the grass. As they passed the central area, Athan slowed near the construction site. Yun and Ok were already there, both perched up on the rising frame of the house. They were busy installing the first angled rafters—long beams that would eventually support the roof. Seems like they had pass the day before solidifying the structure an nklkkild making the notch for the rafters, making it easier to work with once everything was done.
The men worked with care, aligning each piece before fixing it into place. Ok braced a support while Yun drove in wedges to hold the joints tight. Athan paused briefly to watch them, nodding to himself in approval. The build was coming together well. The rhythm of hammers and the occasional murmur of discussion echoed across the clearing.
He didn't stop long. The day was already waiting.
He continued walking, Wade still quietly following, until they reached the base of the cliff—where drying materials had been neatly stacked along the stone wall. Here, several beams and planks were lined up against the rock face, where the sun could strike them directly.
The wood had been stripped and prepared days ago, left to dry naturally in the open. Athan ran his hand along a few pieces, checking their weight, balance, and dryness. After selecting several, he laid them flat on the ground in rows.
He crouched beside the first one and drew a short line across the surface with a piece of charcoal. Then he took out his hatchet and knife and began to cut—short, careful strikes to trim down the wood, then slower, more precise movements to shape the joints.
Wade stood nearby, watching.
"I'm making the real one now," Athan said without looking up. "The model's done. This one will be full-sized."
When it came time to drill the holes for the axles and wedge joints, Athan reached for a tool he hadn't used since the ladder—his bow drill.
He set it down beside his new work area and pulled out a small bundle of interchangeable handles he had carved over the past few weeks. After a while of changing the stones he just made more handle directly. Each one had a different head—shaped stones, sharpened and fixed in place with cord and resin.
He selected a narrow, fine-tipped handle first—ideal for the smaller guide holes. Later, he swapped it for a thicker handle with a broader stone to drill the axle supports.
He tapped each joint into place, driving in the small wooden wedges until everything held tight. The structure was already taking form—a flat, rectangular platform with crossbeams underneath for support. Slightly raised at the front, it was built to be pulled rather than pushed.
Next came the wheels.
Athan selected two thick slabs of wood from the materials he'd gathered earlier. Using his hatchet and knife, he began shaping them slowly into discs—flattening both sides and trimming the edges as evenly as possible. They wouldn't be perfect circles, but they didn't need to be. They just needed to roll, hold weight, and stay strong.
Rather than carving a round hole for the axle, Athan used his tools to create a square hole at the center of each wheel. The axle beam itself had been left with its square shape—cut precisely to fit. This square-to-square contact would give better grip and traction, keeping the wheels from slipping or spinning freely around the axle he only needed to make a hole in which a piece of wood wood be inserted, blocking the wheel in place.
Only the central section of the axle—the part that would rest in the supports under the cart—was rounded with care, allowing it to rotate smoothly while the wheel ends remained firmly locked in place.
Once everything was aligned, Athan slid the axle through the frame, fixed the wheels on each end, and used wedges to hold them tight between stop blocks. The axles spun freely thanks to the rounded center, but remained locked solid where it mattered.
By the time Athan stepped back from the finished frame, the sun had already begun its descent. The clearing was bathed in warm orange light, and long shadows stretched across the dirt.
He glanced at the wheels, the axle, the joints—everything in place, everything holding. His arms were sore, his fingers rough and dusty, and his whole body carried the weight of the day's precision work. Wade had lifted all the heavy materials, sparing Athan's back and shoulders, but the intense focus demanded by shaping and assembling each part had left him mentally drained. Still, there was a quiet pride beneath the fatigue. The base of the cart stood solid, balanced on its two freshly carved wheels, the frame aligned just the way he'd envisioned it.
He let out a slow breath.
Somewhere nearby, birds chirped in the trees. The air had cooled, and the warmth of the day was starting to fade.
Athan looked up at the sky and blinked. He hadn't even realized how late it had gotten.
The day had passed in a blur—carving, cutting, assembling, adjusting—each step pulling him deeper into the work. Now, with the first part complete, the weight of his body reminded him just how much he'd done.
He dusted off his hands, turned toward his shelter, and allowed himself a small, satisfied smile.
Tomorrow, he would continue.
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The second day began with the pale light of dawn creeping through the treetops, painting the village in soft gray and gold. The air was cool, heavy with the scent of damp earth and leaves. Dew clung to the grass underfoot, and a faint mist drifted between the shelters. Athan stirred from his bedding slowly, his muscles aching from the day before. His arms and back carried the weight of every cut, every lift, every joint he'd shaped—but there was no hesitation in his movements. Just focus.
He stretched, rolled his shoulders with a soft grunt, then stepped outside into the stillness of the morning. As expected, Wade was already there, leaning silently against a post, arms crossed, eyes scanning the clearing like always. When Athan glanced his way, the man gave a single, quiet nod and began walking behind him without a word.
Together, they made their way back toward the charrette frame, still resting where they had left it the day before—solid, simple, and patiently waiting for its final form.
Athan crouched beside it and ran his hand along the axle, checking the tension in the wedges, testing each joint with subtle pressure. Satisfied, he turned his attention to the long wooden handles. They still needed reinforcement and smoothing, and the front of the frame would require a proper brace to better distribute the pull when it moved under load.
Without wasting time, he set to work. With his father's quiet assistance, they gathered the remaining materials: short beams for diagonal bracing, flat boards to strengthen the platform, and a few narrow strips he'd saved to act as side stops and wheel guards. His hatchet found its rhythm again—sharp, clean strikes followed by the slower, precise cuts of his knife. The familiar sound of carving filled the space around them, blending with the rustle of trees and the occasional birdcall.
Wade moved with quiet efficiency, offering help before Athan could ask—holding beams in place, steadying the frame, or returning with tools and materials from the pile. They worked in near silence, only broken by the low thud of wood, the creak of joints settling, and the scrape of stone against grain.
By midmorning, Athan had begun fitting the final supports beneath the base. He reached once more for his bow drill, selecting the appropriate handle for each hole—fine for small dowels, thicker and more robust for the main bracing joints. Each hole was carefully aligned, carved with patience. One by one, the braces slid into place, wedged tight, locking the whole structure together with clean, deliberate tension.
The work was repetitive, but satisfying. There was something steadying in it. Each wedge tapped into place felt like a breath released. Each fitted joint made the cart more real—less a memory from a past life, more a tool that would serve the present.
As the sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the treetops in shades of gold and copper, Athan wiped the sweat from his brow and stepped back from the cart. The last wedge had been tapped into place, the handles reinforced, and the platform secured. The joints were tight. The axle spun freely at its center while the square ends locked the wheels in place. Every piece had its purpose—and now, finally, it stood complete.
He circled it slowly, checking one last time. No shifting, no looseness. The frame held under its own weight, balanced and aligned. The wheels, though simple, turned cleanly across the packed earth.
Wade gave the handle a gentle push. The cart rolled forward with a soft creak, smooth and steady.
Athan exhaled.
It was done.
From the drying beams by the cliff to the wedges and braces he'd shaped by hand, the entire build had come together over two long days of focused effort. He could feel it in his back, in his arms—but also in his chest, where pride settled in quiet and deep.
Lara and Kali arrived not long after, drawn by the fading light and the sight of the cart standing alone in the clearing. Kali let out a quiet gasp as she approached, then grinned and broke into a light jog.
"It's finished?" she asked, eyes wide.
Athan nodded, sitting himself on the ground to relax his body. "Finished."
Lara ran her hand along one of the handles, inspecting the joints, then looked at Athan with a warm smile. "It looks strong. You two really made this in just two days?"
"Would've taken me four alone," Athan said, glancing at Wade.
Wade didn't speak, but the small, tired smile at the corner of his mouth said everything.
Kali grabbed one handle eagerly. "Can we try it?"
"Light load first," Athan replied. "Make sure it holds."
They filled it with a few nearby stones and sticks, just enough weight to feel resistance. Then, with Athan guiding from the side, Kali and Lara pulled together.
The wheels turned smoothly. The weight was balanced. The cart moved—not fast, but without strain.
Kali laughed. "This better than carry wood!"
Lara looked over her shoulder. "We're going to use this a lot."
Athan walked behind them, watching how the frame flexed slightly with motion, how the axle turned freely. It wasn't perfect—but it worked. And for the village, it would change a lot of things.
As the sun finally slipped behind the trees, casting the first shadows of night across the clearing, they brought the cart to a gentle stop near the shelters.
The day had ended with something real. Something new.
And Athan, for all his fatigue, felt a little taller as he looked at what they had built.
The fire crackled softly in the center of the shelters, its warm glow casting dancing shadows across the woven walls of the nearby shelters. The air was cooler now, touched by the first hints of night. Around the hearth, Lara and Kali were now busy tending to the cooking pot, stirring gently and checking the texture of the roots and herbs that had been simmering since late afternoon.
The smell of the meal spread slowly through the clearing—earthy, rich, comforting.
Athan sat nearby, his body heavy with fatigue, but his eyes still sharp. He watched as more villagers began to gather, drawn by the fire, the scent of food… and the cart.
One by one, they approached it—men and women. They circled around slowly, curious but hesitant, speaking in low voices as they studied the new creation. No one in the clan had ever seen something quite like it.
Ok arrived last, but once his eyes fell on the cart, his steps became more purposeful. The carpenter in him couldn't resist. He crouched beside the wheels, then stepped around the back, squinting at the joints and wedges. His hand ran along the frame, fingertips brushing every notch, every brace.
He said nothing for a long while.
Then, as Athan stood and walked over, Ok gave a low hum of appreciation.
"This… is clever."
Athan didn't say anything at first. He reached inside his shelter and pulled out the small object he created two nights before. The scale model.
He handed it to Ok, who took it gently, eyebrows lifting with surprise.
"You made a plan?" the man asked.
Athan nodded. "Before I started building."
Ok turned the model over in his hands, inspecting every piece. "You'll show me how you did the wheels?"
"If you want," Athan said with a faint smile.
"I do," Ok replied. "We'll build more of these."
Athan gave a short nod, then stepped back as the man continued to study the design in detail.
Behind them, Wade settled onto a low log near the fire. Kali and Lara were already serving bowls, calling quietly to the rest of the group. Laughter drifted through the smoke as others began sitting, settling into the familiar warmth of evening.
Athan let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. The day had been long, the work intense—but now, with firelight on his face, the cart finished, and the village gathering as one… everything felt just right.
While eating, Athan observed his father sitting quietly on his log, the flames flickering against the deep lines of his face. Wade looked tired, but peaceful. The weight he had carried that day—for both of them—seemed to rest differently now.
Athan then turned his gaze to the fire, where the girls had cut ingredients on flat stones. The position and the hand moving always awkward, they could not be comfortable with it.
It was at that moment that an idea struck him—one that should've come to him far earlier. He blinked, slightly annoyed at himself for not thinking of it sooner. It was simple. Obvious, even. But now that it was here, it refused to leave his mind.
