And with the sadness and shame came yearning thoughts of going back to see, to see if there was still part of that time left. Knowing he could not, would not, because Old Carl was a man who knew things, knew all things, was always wise and right and had said to never come back.

Never find that time again but keep going.

North.

With all that in his mind he leaned back against the cairn, felt the closeness of the round rocks in and on his back and finally allowed the heavy exhaustion to take him into a deep and complete, dreamless sleep.

Whale Song

Jays awakened him.

Blunt, raucous, sharp blasts of crude sound cut into his sleep and took him up and into the sun. They were angry about something, as jays always seemed angry, and he thought for a moment – and worried – that it sounded like their bear warnings and swearing complaints. Then he remembered the small island he was on and that no bears would bother to swim to it and he stood, stiffly, made his way to the tiny stream, and drank until he was filled with the cold, nearly sweet clean water. He was instantly ripped with hunger, which was in itself not particularly new.

He seemed always to be hungry. But there were only a few bites of the smoked fish left and after he ate it the taste of the fish seemed to make his hunger worse.

He had to find food. He made certain the fire was completely burned out, took one last look around the island of Little Carl, and moved to the canoe. It took but a moment to load the small number of possessions in the little bundle, which he tucked up into the bow, pulled the canoe around – lifting it so it wouldn’t be gouged on the rocks – floated it in the shallows, then hopped in and went to his knees while he picked up the paddle.

One, two thrusts biting deep into the water and the canoe came to life and glided away from shore. He let it coast for a space and found himself looking back at the cairn until the canoe caught the current, moved out of the inlet and was carried around a point that blocked vison so the cairn was gone from sight.

He turned back to the front and paddled, adding to the northern flow of the moon-current. He kept pulling hard, fighting images of the cairn, fighting sadness, until his lower arms started to ache. Then he let the current have him again and admitted the hunger. That feeling had gone for a bit but came back now with a vengeance and he was acutely aware that he had eaten all the smoked fish and that his stomach was moving viciously towards his backbone.

He would have to find food soon.