Hmm...
The wet sand shifts beneath his knees and hand. The sound of the rustling palms flows into the wash and pull of the waves. The cries of unknown birds replace those of the dolphins that had swam circles around as he'd moved slowly across the coral and rocks that littered the sea floor. Now, his body feels multitudes heavy than it ever had these past ten days, and he collapses rolling onto his back to stare at the stars so far above. He narrows his eyes trying to read them, but navigation was never his strong point, and he closes them in weary defeat. He opens them at the sound of thrashing off to his right. A death struggle it seems, and he turns his head to see the body of a shark, blood running from its gasping mouth. He watches as it convulses. He watches as something crawls from out its mouth, blood and bile all but blotting out it's pale colour. The thing scuttles over the sea-washed sand, running from the lap of the waves like a demon's idea of a crab. He reaches out his mangled, truncated arm willing his hand to return. And it does. Placing the calloused pads of his fingers against his ravaged forearm his hand curls to meld the ragged flesh of his wrist together again. The wind blows the moon free of the clouds, and for a moment he watches as his bones fit themselves against one another. Then the moon is covered once more, and he is whole again.