Darvuul's work proceeded slowly, with trips to the edge of the woods and back to the overturned boat with small trees. He had all the tools for his task, but little experience with using them, and that inexperience revealed itself in scrapes and splinters and mashed fingers. Every setback was met with muttered curses, but progress was being made. Already there were rough holes cut in the boat, and two slender trunks had been shaped into crude axles to fit the holes. Wheels were a more difficult proposition, for he wasn't equipped to cut down large trees, and wagon wheels seemed like a lot of work. Stymied for the moment, he sat on top of the mutilated boat and chewed on the end of his cigar, trying to come up with a solution. Perhaps he could abandon the wheel idea, and use small trees as log rollers... it was more work than wheels, but definitely better than abandoning all of his goods to the elements.