Sunlight lanced through the trees, pulling Danae from a deep sleep. Careful not to reopen her wound, she slowly climbed to her feet, stiff from sleeping on the ground. After taking a drink from her canteen, Danae knelt down and reignited the fire, now reduced to warm, gray coals. Once the fire had been relit, she gulped down some salted venison then hung up her pack and satchel in case it rained, a common occurrence this time of year.
At least I won't have to worry about bears she thought, grabbing her cloak from the where it hung. These islands don't have much on them other than trees, but which of the sisters did I end up on? Her makeshift campsite held no answers and Danae knew she didn't have enough food in her pack for more than a day.
"Back to the Pike then. At least there wasn't another storm last night. I should be able to salvage some food and other necessities and maybe even figure out a way to get off this rock." Her voice cracked. Grabbing her axe and canteen, Danae made her way back to the remains of the ship in search of supplies and escape.
Shielding her eyes from the sun, Danae surveyed the remains of the Pike. The mainmast hung at an angle and the foremast was impaled in the sand a short distance from the bow of the ship. The sails, or what remained of them, flapped forlornly in the breeze. What had been a sturdy trade ship was now just another victim of The Great North Lake. The hull had been split in two and the opening was big enough for someone to squeeze through if they were careful.
"At least I don't have to worry about bodies washing up. She never gives up her dead" She whispered to the shattered hulk who ignored her. Danae made a mental list of what she needed. Food for sure, she thought, fingers tapping on her hips, and that canvas would keep me dry in the next storm, and maybe a hammock or cot so I'm not sleeping on the ground. Leaning her axe on a large rock, Danae paced back and forth in the early morning sun, until knew what she wanted to do.
Not one to second guess herself, Danae carefully hoisted herself up into the opening of the Pike and squeezed into the opening in search of anything that would keep her alive. It took several moments for her eyes to adjust to the gloomy interior of the ship. Like her cabin, the interior of the ship was a mess. Tools, supplies and the cargo had been tossed about, making moving around the hold a tricky proposition. The first few areas held little she could use other than a couple of empty sacks and a half full lantern that Danae was forced to light to explore deeper into the ship.
Sqeulsh. Holding the lantern high over her head, Danae stopped where she was, half afraid to look down. Gritting her teeth as the swaying lantern splashed golden light on the cedar planks and puddles of black liquid, she looked down at what she stepped in.
"Thank Kuu, it's just flour." Exhaling deeply Danae found the source of the flower, a barrel lay on the ground, with its cargo scattered in a semicircle. Raising the lantern a bit higher, she realized she'd stumbled into the galley.
Dried beef hung at an angle next to the cold iron stove still resting on its box of sand. A nearly empty sack of charcoal lie a short distance away and a crate of square white shapes lay smashed on the floor. Curious, she placed the lantern on the oven and bent over to take a closer look. Crackers? She mused, trying to recall a snippet of conversation from a sailor. Hardtick? Tock? Schlock? What the hell did they call it? Either way it was food and was supposed to last longer than an elf lives.
Wonder if that pointy eared bastard survived? She mused, sorting through the crackers, and tossing them into a sack. If it weren't for how much money I make off of them, I'd tell them all to get... A glint in the corner caught her eye. "Huh?" Stuffing the last of the crackers in her sack, the curious castaway crouched down, lantern in hand. A cast iron skillet lay on a sack of ruined flour, metal hook still in the handle. Grinning, Danae picked it up, grunting at the effort. Cooking just got a lot easier, she thought, placing it in her other sack. I should probably take that dried meat before the rats show up, or at least as much as I can carry today and come back for the rest tomorrow.
Danae pulled her knife out and hacked off several large chunks and tossed them in the same sack as the frying pan. She then picked it up, grabbed the lantern and made her way out of the ship. Once she was back on dry land she placed the sack under a tree and returned for the dried biscuits and placed them next to the stack of supplies liberated from the hull of the Pike.
Feeling as though she'd forgotten something, Danae turned and looked at the shipwreck, absently tying her hair back in a ponytail. A soft rhythmic clack near the bow of the ship drew her attention. Picking her way around splintered wood and slick rocks, she searched for the strange sound.
"Almost like metal on rock, maybe a pully or hook from the ship?" Danae wondered aloud, eliciting a disdainful cry from a nearby seagull circling overhead.
She almost missed it in the shadow of the ship. A long pole with a metal spike on one end bobbed gently in the waves, its tip tapping out a rhythm on an exposed rock. The wooden shaft had been broken near the end and would need to be filed down. Bracing herself on the rough wood of the beached hulk, she reached down and plucked it out of the cold, clear water, ignoring the terrified minnows that dove out of sight.
What did they call this again? Danae wondered examining it closely. Some kind of pike, I think. Well, if I file off the end, it'd make for a good... "Damn it! Dad's bower tools! How could I be so dense?!?" Her curse echoed in the small cove. "Mom'll never forgive me if I leave them behind!" She bit off several more curses as she splashed through the cold water and launched herself into the doomed ship, tossing the pike onto the rocky beach as she did.
Danae relit the lantern with shaking hands, nearly burning her fingers in the process. Heart pounding, she scrambled over broken crates and equipment looking for the polished Cherrywood case with a birch tree carved into the top.
Ignoring the hot flashes from her side, Danae tossed aside hammocks, wood and ignored the squeaks from startled rats. Finally, chest heaving, she spotted a familiar outline in the light of the swinging lantern. Thumping the lantern down on a nearby box, she caressed the outline of the tree, vision blurred.
"Miss you Dad." The whisper lost in the shadows of the hull. Slowly, she opened the crate and inspected the tools. Files, rasps, knives, bowstrings, feathers for fletching, and more, lay nestled in the case, separated by leather and straw. Images of her dad smiling down at her from his workbench flitted through the tears that splashed onto a stray piece of canvas.
Tears spent, Danae closed the box tightly, grabbed the lantern and returned to the rocky beach. It took her three trips to haul all the gear she had collected from the Pike back to the hollow that served as her campsite. Along with her dad's box, the pike and the food, Danae found a hammock in decent shape along with a couple strips of canvas that could be used for a makeshift tent.
She busied herself with organizing her gear, stringing up the hammock, and chopping more firewood. The sun was starting to vanish below the tree line when she was finished. Mopping the sweat off her brow and taking a drink from her canteen, Danae tried to ignore the pulsing heat from her wound. Finally with a low curse, she struggled out of her shirt and unwound her bandage, wincing more than once.
"Damn, I wish I had a mirror, this'd be a lot easier." Danae inspected the gash, it had already started to heal, and there was no sign of infection. "Thank Kuu for small miracles." With a sigh, she pulled a few of the petals out of her satchel, along with a new bandage and more leaves and repeated the process.
Once the bandage had been tied off, Danae's stomach informed her it was time for food. She pulled out the skillet retrieved from the ship and cut off a few strips of the dried beef and tossed them into the skillet and the busied herself with making a fire. Once the fire was crackling, the hungry woman placed the skillet carefully on the fire until the beef began to sizzle and the smell wafted to and fro on the evening breeze.
Using her ruined tunic, she pulled the skillet away from the fire and set it on a flat rock to cool while she pulled a biscuit out of the canvas sack and tried to take a small bite. "What the hell? This is harder than an elf's skull!" She cursed, turning the so-called food over in the flickering light. "Now what?" Danae took a swig from her canteen, brow furrowed, "Maybe soak it?"
With a resigned shrug Danae grabbed a metal cup out of her pack and filled it part way with water, then placed the biscuit in it, watching it sink to the bottom with a solid clink. She then set it near the fire to warm it while she began to eat the fried meat, blowing on it before tossing the chunks into her mouth.
Once the meat was gone, she pulled the moist biscuit out of the water and then dragged it through the warm grease still in the pan. This time it was edible and filling, if bland. Danae washed it down with a large gulp of water before cleaning up the pan and rehanging the sacks of food on a low branch. No sense of letting the insects and rats have an easy meal, she thought as she turned to where the pike and axe lay bathed in yellow firelight.
I need to file down the end of that pike and sharpen that axe. Apparently, sailors haven't figured out that axes need to be sharpened from time to time. Now where did I put my whetstone? These thoughts ran through her head as she searched through her pack and satchel until she found her satchel and a small bottle of oil.
Settling herself down on the ground, hazel eyes reflecting the light of the fire, Danae began to sharpen her axe. The snap and pop of the fire a counter to the rhythmic snick, snick, snick of whetstone on oiled iron. Brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, she flipped the axe over and repeated the process. Finally, after running a grimy finger along the edge of the shiny blade, Danae smiled as her dad's voice echoed in her head. "Quality is an universal language, one that goes beyond race and culture."
"Not bad for a girl, huh Dad?" Blinking away the memories, she rose to her feet, and returned the gleaming axe to its place before beginning her inspection of the pike. The shaft was made of ash, earning a grunt of approval from her as she inspected the splintered end. Not bad, she thought, placing the iron tip on a rock, and checking for warping. Not warped even a little. This is well made, and I won't have to file down much. A smile danced across her face before vanishing into the chill night air. Flipping open her dad's chest, she pulled out a pair of rasps and a file then went to work, filing down the splintered end until it was smoothed out to her satisfaction.
"This'll make for a good walking stick." she announced to a bat busy hunting. "Better sharpen that tip, not all monsters walk on four legs around here." Unlike the axe, the pike needed just a few passes with the whetstone to sharpen the iron head. After repeating the process with her knife. Danae banked the coals, and after checking the knots on the hammock, climbed in and fell into a deep sleep.