The sun dipped below the mountain peaks as Leon and Isabella finished setting up their lean-to, and the temperature plummeted. The southern edge's day-night temperature difference was brutal—scorching during the day, freezing at night—and their thin cloaks offered little protection against the wind that whistled through the trees.
"I'm freezing," Isabella said, hugging herself, her teeth chattering. "If we don't stay warm, we'll get sick by morning."
Leon nodded, his breath fogging in the cold air. He thought of the fermented dough he'd made back in Acorn Village—how the warm, enclosed space of the kitchen had helped it rise. Heat retention was key, and they needed something to trap body heat while blocking the wind.
He remembered the small prey they'd caught that morning—a handful of plump rabbits, snared in vines—and the animal hides he'd dried and packed. He also had bundles of dried reeds, collected from the moonwell valley, which were light and fluffy. And there was the camellia oil-soaked hemp rope he'd brought for repairs—oil made the rope more flexible, but it also repelled moisture.
"Let's make insulation mats," he said. "The hides will trap heat, reeds will add cushion and warmth, and the oiled rope will hold it all together."
They set to work. Leon cut the animal hides into large rectangles, while Isabella sorted the dried reeds, removing any brittle bits. Leon threaded the oiled hemp rope through a thick needle (fashioned from a bone fragment), then stitched the hide to a layer of reeds, making sure the stitches were tight to keep the reeds from shifting. He added a second layer of reeds on top, then stitched another piece of hide over it—creating a thick, padded mat that was both warm and waterproof.
By the time the mats were finished, the wind had grown stronger, and frost was starting to form on the grass. Leon laid one mat on the ground inside the lean-to, and Isabella spread the other over them like a blanket. They crawled under it, and Leon felt the warmth immediately—the hides trapped their body heat, and the reeds blocked the cold air.
"But we need more heat," Isabella said, still shivering slightly.
Leon thought of the clay pot they'd used to boil water that day. He filled it with hot embers from their campfire, covered the top with a layer of ash to slow the burn, and set it near their feet. "This will act like a heater," he explained. "The pot will hold the heat, and the ash will keep the embers from burning through."
It worked. The embers radiated a steady warmth, and the insulation mat trapped it inside the lean-to. By midnight, Isabella was sleeping soundly, her breathing soft, and Leon felt cozy enough to close his eyes. He thought of the fermented dough—how warmth and enclosure had made it rise—and smiled. Survival often meant reusing what he knew, adapting old ideas to new challenges.
When dawn broke, the ground was dusted with frost, but inside the lean-to, it was warm and dry. Isabella stretched, yawning, and smiled. "That mat is the best thing we've made yet. We should make more for the village when we get back."
Leon nodded, packing up the embers from the pot. "We will. But first, we have ironwort to find—Kael's notes say it grows near rocky cliffs, and it's the last herb we need."
As they broke camp, Leon rolled up the insulation mats, tucking them into their packs. The southern edge tested them every day, but with each challenge, they grew smarter, more resourceful. Cold nights were no longer a threat—they were just another problem to solve.