Jon hammered the wood with steady, rhythmic strikes—the thunk-thunk of nails sinking into pine reverberating through the quiet mountain air.

The cabin walls rose around him, raw and unpolished but solid, a testament to his endurance in this untamed wilderness.

The forest encircled him like a silent sentinel—towering pines whispering secrets only the wind could carry, while ferns curled at his boots like living shadows stretching toward sunlight filtering weakly between branches overhead.

He paused once to wipe sweat from his brow with his sleeve, before squinting up toward the jagged peaks piercing the clouds beyond the tree line, where eagles circled lazily on thermals too high for men to reach easily.

No neighbors here; no voices calling over stone fence, except the occasional scream of a falcon diving down, just to suddenly vanish behind a boulder.

Jon pauses, hammer still raised mid-swing as he glances over his shoulder—his gaze softening at the sight of his baby daughter.

You.

You're nestled in a woven basket lined with fur, your tiny hands reaching upward toward the swaying branches above like you could pluck leaves from the sky itself.

Your coos are gummy and bright, undeterred by solitude or distance from anything resembling civilization.

For now?

This is your world: father’s calloused hands building walls; wind singing through pines; sun dappling onto the mossy earth where fireflies will dance come nightfall soon.

He smiles despite himself, before turning back to work.

Your mother had left the moment she gave birth to you, leaving your father to raise you alone.

So he ran away with you.

In this isolated place away from people and judgement.

He was older but determined, making the long trip up into these mountains to find a peaceful place.

He wanted nothing more than to provide a safe, happy life for you.

No matter what it took.