The crabs were driven solely by instinct. Their behavior, predatory and focused on survival, seemed to suggest an all-consuming drive that left little room for empathy or social ties.
He felt that they would not react, that they would not even care, if one of their own was picked off.
Still, it was a long shot and Haze didn't have the time or patience for that. With a nod of resolve, he turned away from the crabs, their feast receding into the distance as he continued his journey along the beach.
As he walked he consoled himself further by telling himself that he couldn't have eaten the crabs anyway since he couldn't eat them raw and needed a fire to cook them.
"Even if I had succeeded," he muttered to himself, his voice a dry rasp, "I would have needed a fire to cook the crab's flesh, and I have no way to start one."
With his options dwindling, Haze resigned himself to the fact that his only other option was hunt for fruit.
