The night is long and morning brings misery. It feels like hours have gone past before Andrew is well enough to even sit up. Not a moment too soon, either, because his raft is just about sunk.

Getting up, Andrew studies the damage. The shark has done a number on the wood, and half of the entire raft is now completely submerged in the water. The rest is breaking apart, pieces slowly being carried away on the waves.

Andrew races against the elements, clawing back bits of wood and rope before they can drift too far. He manages to latch the biggest logs together, and using this as a platform he rebuilds the rest of his raft. He works tirelessly until the sun is above his head before allowing himself to stop for a drink of water.

Although he's lost all his shark teeth and even the nail, the Water Maker MKI has been left mostly intact. One of the fishing lines is still there as well, and after reeling it in Andrew is pleasantly surprised to find a dead fish hanging off the hook. He doesn't eat it, even though he is next to starving. The fish may still seem fresh, but Andrew doesn't know how it died. He doesn't want to chance getting sick, not when he's made it this far already.

So, he is going to need a fire. Andrew comes to this decision at the same time acknowledging how preposterous it is to have an open flame in the middle of an ocean. He isn’t going to burn any part of his still-sinking ship, obviously, but he doesn't have many other choices out here.

Andrew stashes the fish into a crevice and tries to come up with a plan. But his foot has started to hurt suddenly, so he checks on it. All this time, the lower half of his body has been in the water. The raft simply isn't big enough to support his entire weight anymore. Pulling himself up as far as he dares, Andrew lifts his right leg out of the water, revealing a dark, disk-like object clinging to his ankle.

Andrew freezes, not knowing what he's seeing or what to do. Then the disk moves a little, unfurls to its true dimensions. Two claws stretch out from a tangle of spindly legs.

Pain and understanding zap through Andrew's nerves. He yells, swinging his leg back and forth to dislodge the crab. It only makes it worse. The creature clamps down harder. Reaching down, Andrew grabs a fistful of crab and hauls hard, tearing it from his skin. The pain is enough to make Andrew's head spin, but he doesn't dare pass out. He feels the crab's legs trying to latch onto his fingers. He brings his arm down onto the surface of the raft, once, twice, again and again, feeling the creature's shell split apart.

He stops, panting, and rests with his chin pressed up against the cold wood.

Now he really needs a fire.

The wound may infect. This is the first thing Andrew thinks about when he examines the gash running across the back of his ankle. The cut isn't wide but it is deep, and even as Andrew watches, blood oozes freely into the surrounding waters.

After tying the rest of his shirt around his foot to stop the bleeding, Andrew tries to find some seaweed. Thankfully, it is one of the resources he has plenty of. The stuff clings to the sides of his raft like broken skin, and Andrew is able to quickly gather a fresh bunch. He strips them down and binds the slimiest section straight over the wound, and vows to enjoy every part of the crab once he cooks it.

The Water Maker stops working in the afternoon. Andrew originally used a few splinters to weigh the plastic down, but they are not heavy enough. The dewdrops have been running along the transparent surface every way except where Andrew needs them, which is into the small bowl. But like the seaweed, the solution also comes from the sea. When Andrew runs a hand along the bottom of the raft, he realizes barnacles have been forming on the underside of the wood.

Trying not to think about how long he's been in the sea, Andrew pries loose the largest one he can find. The barnacle’s bumpy shell gleams as Andrew feels its weight on his palm. It's almost enough. Andrew finds two more, makes them stick to each other, then sets the cluster onto the plastic sheet.

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It works surprisingly well.

Andrew whispers a prayer of thanks. But he isn't overly optimistic, because his most pressing issue isn't dealt with yet. He has no fire to cook his dead food, and also to keep his injury dry. Being soaked in the water for days on end will almost certainly lose him his foot, and probably his life.

Andrew fights a groan. In the end, it still comes down to the last thing he wants to do, which is also the most dangerous thing he can do. He looks around for options. He has some ropes that are too short to be of any use. He can unwind these to use as kindling. There are splinters and broken bits of wood he can pull off to burn. They won’t be much help keeping him afloat anyway. He also has his coat. It’s hood-less and button-less, but he doesn’t want to destroy it unless he absolutely has to. And he's pretty sure he isn’t at that point. Yet.

Then there are his socks. Andrew doesn't want to burn these either, and decides to wear both over his injured foot like a cast. Underneath the elastic, he can feel the seaweed bandage pressing right up against his wound, making it teeth-tightening sore.

That leaves not much else. Andrew doesn't even have any tools left. The necklace of shark teeth is gone. But, he realizes he still has the fishing line with the button hook.

He'll need to be careful.

As the sun starts to go down, Andrew cuts open a length of his rope with the pointy end of the button hook. Then he picks loose the threads and gathers them into a ball, placing them under the waning sun to dry. Next, he sets up a drill station, again using his memory of Aragon Dragonia's stories as a guide. He yanks out the largest piece of wood from within one of the broken logs, praying all the while the missing chunk will not upset the raft’s balance, and peels back layers of wet bark to reveal the dry inside. He does this again for the drill, this time going for the logs at the back of the raft where they are already half-sunk. Finally, after a lot of peeling, he has all he needs. But by now the sun has gone down and Andrew is too exhausted to move, so he waits until tomorrow to make the fire.

Big mistake. Andrew wakes up at dawn to the smell of bad fish. He is forced to throw it away, cursing everything above and below while he does so. The crab is still good, though admittedly it's hard to tell with the way everything is constantly oozing from it. Andrew decides he will take this chance, but not without cooking it thoroughly first.

That brings him to the fire. After placing it on the deck to dry, both the drill bit and drill station are dried enough to use. The “drill” is more like a scoop though, but that will have to do. Andrew will simply apply a forward motion instead of purely downward, which should compensate. He hopes.

Andrew sits down and positions the slab between his feet with the kindling on the far end, and rests the scoop at an angle. He takes a deep breath. No more preparation. No more waiting. He starts to rub the scoop back and forth across the slab, starting slow before building up speed and power. He works at it with a steady rhythm, pushing and pulling, push and pull, all the while applying as much pressure as he can.

The two pieces of wood squeak like mice. Then they start to smoke. By the time Andrew spots the first whiffs of faint white drifting upwards, a breeze has picked up across the raft. He stops just long enough to get his coat and make a wall around the slab. He can feel the wind prickling the sweat on his forehead, and leans away so that his sweat doesn’t drop onto the kindling.

The smoke grows thicker. Andrew can see black marks along the groove in the wooden slab. His arms are aching but he pushes on. He’s almost there. He presses down even harder.

And then the scoop snaps.

Andrew pitches forward onto his belly, the slab digging into his chest. He cries out, first in pain and then frustration as the reality of what he’d done comes crashing down.

"I pushed too hard! Damn it!"

Getting up, Andrew peels the broken handle of the drill off his chest. The wood is still hot, but it's well and truly destroyed. Andrew picks up the rest. Rage bubbles from the sore pit inside him. He'd done so much. All for nothing. He had a fish, a crab, and now he will enjoy neither.

Cursing, Andrew raises the wooden scoop over his head to throw. But he stops. It’ll be so easy to cast the broken pieces away. He’ll feel good afterward, too. But he’ll also be wasting precious resources.

He puts the pieces down.

The sun has set now. Andrew has used nearly an entire day with the stupid fire. He leans over the edge and washes his face, and spends a minute there watching the dark lines appear below the murky water. Are those reefs, or some other sea monster come to take his life? Andrew lies down. Doesn't matter. Let them come. He’s exhausted and sore and his hands hurt and his foot feels like it’s already gone.

He gets up. Reaching down he peels off his socks and the seaweed bandages, letting the wound get some air. He then drinks the sliver of water in his bowls, and grabs another chunk of wood from the back of his raft.

Then, with the stinging breeze at his back and the sound of breathing waves lulling him into a gentle rhythm, Andrew starts again.