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So it went; those with burning hands led bravely led the way, the newfound leadership a bright beacon for the suffering crew.

The acts felt dull, repetitive. Somewhere, they felt guilt — the only knew the freezing mist that barely reached their faces, the winds like sharp blades, but not the water that stranded them.

This time, it wasn’t as easy. Their bodies worn and their minds frantic, their fighting stretched well into the night. When they finally dragged Coral to the edges and shoved her over, the darkness swallowed her whole and she was no more to them.

And neither was one other crew member. Frightened by his loneliness or driven mad by the situation, SirCakez threw himself over after her — he moved so quickly that no one could grab to stop him before he, too, was gone.

But they could not save him. They selfishly could not give up their battles now, for what would it have all been for?

“To bed, then?”

“For what? Another day like this? Three more raving lunatics to deal with?”

“Don’t you feel it? We’re here now, at night, and it’s not so bad. Maybe we did it right this time.”

“Maybe. So we wait for the sun and pray that it’s finally done something for us?”

“Indeed.”

—

And, indeed, the sun gave the a great gift come morning: warmth, freedom, a breeze not bitter but kind. The ice fled back into the water hesitantly, but it was enough.

Four more marks appeared, on the hands of those remaining. To explain it felt a pointless task. They were too tired, too busy, finding their way home to question more the nights spent stranded upon the .