Haze trudged deeper into the island, his senses sharpened by hunger, his eyes scanning the landscape in search of sustenance.
His steps, heavy and determined, crunched against the dry soil, kicking up dust that swirled around his ankles like a cloud of ghosts.
He turned his head, his gaze darting from side to side, searching for any sign of edible plants, roots, or even insects, anything that might stave off the gnawing hunger in his belly.
Hunger nipped at Haze's heels like a feral hound, driving him forward in his desperate search for food.
But with each passing step, his hopes began to fade, his stomach clenching with the realization that the island seemed devoid of life, its barren landscape a cruel mockery of his hunger.
As the sun continued to beat down upon him, Haze knew that he would soon have to face the inevitable truth: if he did not find food here, he would have no choice but to return to the beach, to face the crabs and the sea once more.
