The hauling frame was assembled right there on the damp earth, made from three tree trunks roughly two meters long, stripped of bark to avoid splinters, lashed into a triangle and tightly bound with vines. The front axis had a crossbar for someone to grip, the rear was wider, enough for the mother deer to lie on her side without being pressed in, while the fawn was tied closely to her belly with soft rope. No one spoke much while building it, only movements that had become second nature to survival: finding replacements for tools humans had long forgotten how to craft themselves.
Ethan was the last to inspect it. He shook the frame with both hands, then placed a foot on the pull-bar to test its strength. The wood didn’t c***k, the rope didn’t slip. He nodded: “It’ll hold for half the rout
