The child must live.
That was all he could remember at present; everything else was slowly blurring together like the ripples on the water. The child was hardly a month old, if that, he could see that plainly; but the food he could give it was gone. He had kept his own hunger at bay by taking slow, careful mouthfuls of sea water, though it burned his throat and made him even thirstier than ever. They had been adrift at sea for nearly two weeks, with no means of steering their tiny boat once he was too weak to manage the oars. Lord Bar had given no specific instructions before sending him off with the infant, and he was on the verge of death