Shark, it turns out, is food too.

Wind started a driftwood fire with his little gold lens — one bright point of sun, one curl of smoke — and cooked the meat, and ate it. It was good. And it was fair. They had all wanted to eat him first.

And every shark taught him something. How they turn. Where they look when they're hungry — and where they never look at all. How their noses feel everything.

The sharks were trying to learn Wind, too. But Wind was learning faster.

He was fed. He was quick. He was brave.

He was also not one single inch closer to home.