The ancient pithouse stands in a clearing among the cedar trees, its weathered stone walls slowly surrendering to the relentless passage of time. Once a shelter, a home, a place where lives unfolded, it now stands as a fading reminder of those who came before us. The stones are crumbling, the walls growing weaker with each passing year. Soon, nothing may remain but a scattered pile of rubble, marking the very ground where people once lived, worked, and called this place home. Only the land will remember.