HE LEFT THEM EMPTY-HANDED, SO THEY DUG A HOLE BENEATH A FALLEN TREE AND TURNED IT INTO THEIR HOME.

He left them empty-handed on a gray morning, without long goodbyes or explanations that could stand on their own. Only a light backpack for each of them, a couple of crumpled bills, and a gaze that avoided theirs.

— "It’s for the best," their father said, as if repeating it could turn it into the truth.

Lucy did not respond. At sixteen, she had learned that some phrases did not seek to comfort, but to silence. Thomas, her younger brother, barely thirteen, said nothing either. He only clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white.

When the door closed behind them, the world became too big.

And they became too small.

They walked aimlessly for hours. The city was left behind, replaced by dirt roads, scattered trees, and an open sky that seemed to observe them with indifference.

— "Where are we going?" Thomas finally asked.

Lucy looked around. She had no answer.

— "Wherever we can stay."

That was all.

The sun began to drop when they reached a small woods. It wasn't dense, but it was enough to hide them from the world. The air smelled of damp earth and dry leaves.

Thomas let himself fall beside a fallen trunk.

— "I’m tired."

Lucy sat beside him. The silence between them was no longer awkward. It was necessary.

— "We’re going to spend the night here," she said.

Thomas nodded without argument.

But that night, the cold taught them something important: it wasn't enough to survive the day. They had to think about the next one.

The following morning, Lucy made a decision.

— "We can't keep moving. We need a place."

Thomas looked at the woods.

— "Here?"

Lucy followed his gaze. That was when she saw it.

A massive tree, fallen a long time ago. Its upturned roots formed a kind of natural wall. The trunk, thick and solid, created a barrier against the wind.

— "There."

Thomas frowned.

— "What?"

— "Underneath."

He looked at her, confused.

— "You want to… dig?"

Lucy nodded.

— "Yes."

Thomas let out a small, incredulous laugh.

— "A hole?"

— "A shelter."

There was a moment of doubt.

Then, without further words, they began.

At first, it was clumsy. They used branches, stones, and their hands. The earth was hard, but it gave way bit by bit. Every improvised shovelful was an act of defiance against their situation.

Hours passed.

Then days.

The hole began to take shape.

First, it was enough to sit in.

Then, to lie down.

Later, to move with some degree of comfort.

They covered the entrance with branches and leaves, leaving a small space to crawl in and out.

— "It looks… real," Thomas said one night, looking at their creation.

Lucy smiled faintly.

— "It is."

It wasn't a house. It didn't have brick walls or a shingled roof. But it was theirs.

And that changed everything.

The first days were brutal.

Hunger was constant. The cold was persistent. Fear was silent but always present.

But little by little, they learned.

Lucy found safe berries. Thomas learned to catch small animals with improvised traps. They collected rainwater, storing it in bottles they had found along their way.

The hole was transformed.

They added a layer of mud for insulation.

They created a rudimentary ventilation system.

They even managed to make a small space for a controlled fire.

— "We’re like moles," Thomas joked.

— "Very resourceful moles," Lucy replied.

Time passed.

Days turned into weeks.

And weeks into months.

The woods stopped being unfamiliar. It became their world.

They learned its sounds, its rhythms, its secrets.

But it wasn't all peace.