The success of the irrigation system rippled through the village like the water itself flowing through the newly dug channels. The cultivated patch, once a source of anxiety and unpredictable yields, became a vibrant testament to Elias's 'new ideas' and the villagers' hard work. The plants, consistently watered regardless of the sky's mood, grew with a vigor they had never shown before. The harvest, when it came, was bountiful, far exceeding anything the village had experienced in living memory.
This abundance transformed the village's atmosphere. The constant, underlying worry about food scarcity, a shadow that had always loomed over their lives, began to recede. Meals were more substantial, bellies were fuller, and the energy previously spent on anxious foraging and meager harvests could be redirected. There was more time for repairing huts, crafting tools, and strengthening the village's simple defenses. Laughter was heard more frequently, and the evening fires burned brighter, fueled by a sense of relief and shared accomplishment.
Elias's standing within the community solidified further. He was no longer just 'Elias, who makes the meat last' or 'Elias, who makes the tools sharp.' He was 'Elias, who brought the water.' His name was spoken with respect, his presence sought out not just by Kaelen, but by many of the villagers. Children followed him around, mimicking his gestures and repeating his words, seeing him as a source of fascinating knowledge. The elders, initially hesitant about deviating from tradition, now looked at him with a mixture of awe and acceptance. His youth was no longer a primary factor; his demonstrated ability to improve their lives spoke louder than his age.
With the immediate pressure of food security lessened, Elias's mind, the repository of Earth's history and societal structures, began to consider the next steps. A larger, more reliable food supply meant the village could support a larger population. Growth was now a possibility, perhaps even an inevitability. But growth brought new challenges. More people meant a greater need for resources, more complex social dynamics, and a larger target for potential threats.
He observed the village's defenses. A simple wooden palisade, more a marker of territory than a true barrier, surrounded the cluster of huts. The hunters were skilled with spears and bows (simple affairs made of wood and sinew), but their tactics were based on individual prowess and small group coordination, suited for hunting or fending off lone predators, not for defending against a determined attack by a larger force.
He knew that in Earth's history, periods of agricultural surplus often led to population growth and, subsequently, to increased conflict over resources and territory. As this village grew, it would inevitably attract attention, both welcome and unwelcome, from other groups in the vast, unknown world. They needed better defenses.
He spent days observing the terrain around the village, walking the perimeter with Kaelen, pointing out potential weak spots in the natural defenses. The river provided protection on one side, but the landward approaches were open, easily accessible. He drew in the dirt again, sketching simple fortifications he remembered from his history books – ditches, embankments, stronger walls.
He approached Kaelen with his concerns, choosing a time when they were overlooking the landward approach to the village. "Village… safe now," Elias said, gesturing to the thriving field. "Much food." He then pointed outwards, towards the forest. "Other people? Other beasts?" He mimed a group approaching, then an attack. "Village… needs… hard skin." He patted the ground, then the flimsy palisade. "Needs… strong walls."
Kaelen understood the concept of threats. The shadow beasts were a constant reminder of the dangers in the forest, and their stories spoke of skirmishes with other, sometimes hostile, groups in the past. He looked at the palisade, then at the open land, a thoughtful expression on his scarred face. "The forest spirits protect us," he said, a traditional belief.
Elias knew he couldn't dismiss their beliefs, but he needed to introduce the concept of physical defense. He pointed to a large, ancient tree near the village edge. "Spirit strong," he agreed, using words he had learned from Elara. "But wood… also strong." He tapped the tree trunk. "Stone… more strong." He pointed to a large boulder near the river.
He drew in the dirt again, a more detailed sketch this time. He drew a deep trench around the village, then a raised bank behind it, topped with a thick wall of sharpened logs. He showed how attackers would have to cross the trench, climb the bank, and then face the wall. "Hard to come," he explained. "Village… safe inside."
Kaelen studied the drawing intently. The idea of digging a deep trench around the entire village seemed like an immense task, far greater than the irrigation channels. Building a wall of thick logs would require felling many trees and moving heavy materials. It was a scale of construction they hadn't attempted before.
There was discussion among the elders. Some were hesitant, fearing that disturbing the land in such a way might anger the spirits. Others saw the wisdom in Elias's words, recognizing that their growing prosperity might make them a target. The memory of past attacks, though infrequent, was still present.
Ultimately, the decision was made to proceed, cautiously, and on a smaller scale initially, just as they had with the irrigation. They would start with a section of the perimeter, digging a trench and building a short section of the wall as a test.
The work was arduous. Digging the trench with sharpened sticks and woven baskets was slow and physically demanding. Moving the thick logs required the combined strength of many villagers, working together under Kaelen's direction. Elias, despite his size, participated in every step, carrying smaller logs, helping to clear brush, and constantly reminding them (through gestures and simple words) of the design and purpose. He showed them how to sharpen the top of the logs, how to set them firmly in the ground, and how to reinforce the structure with crossbeams.
It was a new kind of collective effort for the village, one focused not on immediate sustenance, but on long-term security. There were moments of frustration, of exhaustion, but the memory of the successful harvest, the tangible proof of what 'new ideas' and hard work could achieve, spurred them on.
Slowly, painstakingly, the first section of the trench and palisade began to take shape. It was a crude structure by Earth standards, but in this world of stone and wood, it was a significant undertaking. It was a visible symbol of their growing strength, a physical manifestation of their decision to actively defend their newfound prosperity. The trench deepened, the logs rose, and the sounds of hammering and digging filled the air around the village perimeter.