Drowning in the dark, Az refused to let go of his sword. Encumbered by his boots and heavy clothes, he prayed he had not lost track of which way was up as he struggled impotently to reach the surface. His one arm injured, his other hand gripping the hilt of his sword, he would most certainly have drowned if his flailing feet had not struck the solid granite of the lakebed. Pushing himself off of the bottom, Az burst into the open air, hardly having time to take a breath before being drawn into a massive wave and hurled with horrifying force up onto the shore.

Splutter and gasping for breath, Az dragged himself from the waters edge. The shoulder on which he had just landed was the same one in which he had been stabbed, and he was in absolute agony. The rain was still falling heavily and gritting his teeth, Az half stumbled half crawled up to the treeline, collapsing beneath the leaves of a large rhubarb. There he lay panting, trying desperately to slow his beating heart and stay his shaking hands.

Only now, with the fear of drowning behind him, was Az able to turn his mind to the plight of others. His first thought was for Rhea. Squinting out into the rain, Az could hear the horrifying sound of the waves crashing on the shore. Oh god, he thought, drowned or smashed to pieces, how could the poor girl have survived that horrifying wreck. He looked at his arm. Blood was still running from the wound in his shoulder. He felt faint just looking at it. How long ago had it happened? How much blood had he lost? How much more could he afford to lose? Wincing at the pain, Az used the tip of his sword to cut strips from his shirt and bind his injured arm as best he could. Then, standing on trembling legs, he stepped back into the rain to go in search of Rhea.

The massive drops fell cold and heavy, battering Az as he wandered up and down the shore. Everywhere there were signs of the disaster. Shards of wood, canvas, sacks of food and other provisions, carried by the massive waves lay scattered among the rocks and pools. More than once Az was sure he saw a body floating grey out in the chop, but so scared was he of those massive waves and deadly current, that he could not bring himself to go beyond the high-water mark. The wind blew strong around him, heavy gusts drowning out his calls and threatening to carry him off his feet. Soon he was in the grips of despair, warm tears mingling with the rain as he continued his search without hope.

When a half an hour had passed and Az, weakened and shivering, felt as though he might collapse, he turned and walked back to the treeline. Struggling to keep from openly weeping, he walked back towards the rhubarb under which he had left his sword. When he felt as though he must certainly be getting close, he lifted his head and wiped the tears and rain from his eyes. Suddenly something caught his eye, a flash of white illuminated by a far-off fork of lightning. Az’s heart jumped, then fell again. Hurrying forward, he found the girl’s body laying crumpled on the bare rock. Kneeling down, he pressed the back of a shaking hand to her forehead. It was warm. Hot even. Rhea felt feverish and groaned as he lifted her awkwardly onto his shoulders using his one good arm, and carried her to the cover of the leaves.

Laying her down, Az felt his legs growing weak and his eyelids heavy. He yearned to simply throw himself on the ground and sleep where he lay. But looking at Rhea, shivering, soaking wet and in nothing but her spider-silks, he rallied his strength. At first, he thought of just taking off his shirt and throwing it over her. But his wet clothes did not seem as though they would be suitable for keeping her warm. And so, with the last of his strength, he cut down a large piece of leaf and laid it over Rhea, before plopping down next to her and falling immediately into a deep and dreamless sleep.

The next morning when he awoke, Az found Rhea still asleep curled beneath her shard of rhubarb leaf. She looked pale but her breathing was steady. Rolling over Az winced at the pain in his shoulder. Peeling back his shirt and makeshift bandage, he took a look. It was a gristly sight. The knife that Elijah had thrown at him had left a deep gash, which was now surrounded by a massive blue-purple bruise from when the wave had thrown him onto the shore. He lifted his arm, trying to move it. It did not seem broken, but began leaking blood as he did so. He sighed. It would be a long-time healing. And if it grew infected, it could easily take his life.

Cutting another length of cloth from his shirt, Az tied the wound and turned to face the day. The storm had passed, though it was grey and a light rain was still falling. The water was calmer now, and down at the shoreline Az could see the scattered debris of the ship, though not nearly as much as had been there the night before. He collected himself. All was not lost. They still had their lives. Perhaps he could find the things they would need.

As he told himself this, trying to remain positive, Az could feel a deep anger towards Rhea welling up in his breast. He looked back to where she lay. Above her, large drops were collecting on the broad leaves before rolling down onto the damp rocks. He walked stiffly towards her. Bending down, he touched her forehead once more with the back of his hand. She stirred, but did not open her eyes. Turning, he made to head for the shoreline, only to hear her weak voice calling out to him. “Az,” she said. “I’m sorry…”

Reaching the shore, Az was dismayed to see how little of the ship had actually washed aground. Though there seemed to be plenty of shards of wood, the ship itself was nowhere to be seen. Nor were the barrels and sacks he had seen the night before, which must have washed way in the night. Az imagined that after striking the rocks just off shore, the ship had been carried back out into deeper water, perhaps by a change in the wind. But all he could tell for certain was that it was not there, and they were in serious trouble.

Where he stood, the shoreline was made of smooth sloping rock. This was where he and Rhea had washed up, and looking a little farther on, he thanked God that it was. Not far away, sharp stones lay scattered in the shallows and the shore itself grew tall and was comprised of large sheer-faced rocks. There waves lapped in the cervices, trapping debris from the ship which bobbed unable to escape.

Making his way around, Az looked down into the first of these gaps. Floating there were several splinters of wood and down at the bottom, visible through the clear water, a sack of what must have been hardtack, now soggy and thoroughly ruined. Az looked at the spoiled food and was suddenly reminded of the loss of his pack. The thought of it was painful. There had been much in there that would have been useful now. All of the fine food, tools and trinkets he had acquired at Islandnest, much of which he had never had the chance to use. His warm clothes and sleeping roll. His sac of gold. He shook his head, doubting he would ever be so rich again.

Making his way to the next gap, his mind moved almost instantly from his losses to his blessings. Not far below him, in the tights space between two rocks, floated Elijah – his waterlogged body a horror to behold. Az stopped in place, looking down and thinking of how close he had been to sharing that fate. He felt sick, and contemplated getting a long stick and pushing the corpse back out into the current, so that Rhea might not stumble upon it later. But, his mind now turned to Rhea, he remembered that the girl had lost her robes and would need something to wear. So, with some reluctance and much difficulty, Az began the stomach-turning process of fishing out the dead man and stripping him of his soaking clothes.

When the grisly deed was done and the body had been laid beneath a thick layer of damp pine needles, Az carried the clothes down to the waters edge. It was still raining lightly and he had not been dry all day. Still, he could not help but feel dirty, nor could he stand the thought of turning over the clothes unwashed. Looking into the lake, Az felt nervous, the events of the night before having left their mark. Pausing before stepping in, he felt as though some rogue wave would surely arrive to swallow him the moment he stepped in. Overcoming his fear, he walked in where the shore was gentle, laying down and washing himself in no more than an inch or two of water.

Returning to Rhea and the rhubarb, Az found there was nowhere to dry the clothes. Instead, he rung them out, laying them on the ground next to Rhea in case she wanted them upon waking. Cold, wet, uncomfortable and very hungry, Az wandered up to the treeline in search of something to eat.

He found nothing but a few large worms, more than the width of his arm. Chased from the earth by the persistent rain, they writhed in the wet grass, exposing themselves in search of safety. Az honestly hated worm. Worse yet, he had no means of making a fire and the thought of taking a large bite of one’s raw slimy flesh put his stomach in knots. Even so, he took one in hand, gripping it by a link in its thick strong body and feeling it wrap around his arm, trying to twist free like some toothless, blind serpent. Carrying it to the shore, he folded it in a rhubarb leaf, struggling with his injured arm, then set a small stone on top, pinning it down. At least now they would not starve, he thought. And perhaps Rhea was less particular than he was.

That done, Az returned to the gaps between the high rocks in search of more useful salvage. Passing first one than another space without finding anything of note, he began to fall into a flow state and his mind to wander, no longer thinking about what he was seeing. Suddenly he was snapped back to the present by what sounded like a voice, calling feebly from a crevice not far away. Hurrying over, Az looked down to see a woman in her late twenties, dirty, sodden and trembling, pressed tight to the rock and perched precariously on a thin ledge half way between the water and the shore. Pale from fright, exposure and loss of blood, she had a large gash on her left brow. And, as he approached, looking down on her from the edge, the woman turned her eyes on him with a look of the purest and most piteous desperation.

It was clear to Az that having spent the night clinging to the ledge, the woman no longer had the strength to pull herself up, nor the courage to let herself down. Forgetting his previous fears, Az hurried back to where the shore sloped gently then waded around, checking each crevice in turn until he found the one where the woman lay. Without speaking, he held out a large arm and doing little more than relaxing her grip, the woman tumbled from the ledge, bouncing off him and falling into the water. Helping her to stand, Az supported her and the two made their way through the waste deep water and gently lapping waves. Helping her to the bush under which he had left Rhea, Az laid the woman down. She was shivering badly, and he immediately set to work cutting leaves and laying them over her as a makeshift blanket. That done, he pulled a piece of wet moss from the ground, wrapping it in a leaf before tucking it under her head.

“There,” he said. “Now rest. No harm will come to you now, I promise.”

The woman needed no invitation. No sooner had the pillow been laid beneath her head then she fell into a fitful and feverish sleep. Az sat over her for some time, ripping another piece from his shirt and using it to gently wipe the blood from her wound. Breaking his eyes away from the woman, he darted a glance back towards Rhea, only to find her no longer asleep. Instead, she lay in silence, peaking out from beneath her leaf, watching his every movement with her large accusing eyes.