Cass knew the look of a man about to faint. Surprising, now that she thought about it, how incredible it was that he was still conscious after she'd pulled him from the ocean. Well, she couldn't be blamed for her reaction. She was, after all, still fairly drunk, and alcohol was not something that made her overly sensitive to the needs of others.
She watched him fall face first, face a pallid shade of gray. "Well, shit." She dropped the shark back into the boat. There was a lot of blood in the boat, and callous as she was feeling, all she could think about was the work it'd take to get the blood out of the boat. They certainly didn't want to travel back out to sea, with a boat reeking of blood! One, the flies would be horrid. Two, it'd attract less favorable things than flies. She grumbled. "Stupid fucking shark." The meat would spoil if not cooked soon, and seeing as she should probably give the unconscious man priority, it was going to spoil.
Maneuvering her way into the space between the benches where Krah had fallen, Cass lugged him into an upright position so his back was against a bench and his face was no longer in the water at the bottom of the skiff. Climbing quickly back to the bow of the boat, she grabbed onto the rope that was attached to the tree on the beach. Pulling on the rope, she hauled them into land, hand over hand, muscles straining but accustomed to the effort.
Once into land, she hopped off, put a temporary knot in the rope to keep the boat close, and then returned to the skiff. She stared at the unconscious man, debating her next move. As much as the wound needed tending, she needed to get him onshore and away from the ocean. The amount of blood at this time of night, and as isolated as the island was, they were likely to attract unwanted attention from sea-creatures that could traverse land. The lord was foolish to think he was safe. Hadn't he heard stories told about men stumbling upon islands, whereby beautiful sea maidens kept them enchanted until they were old and infirm?
He looked heavy. That was her first thought. A man of his height and size, with that amount of muscle, was not going to be light. "Damnit." She groaned to herself, before climbing back into the skiff. Looping his limp arms over her shoulders, she tried to imagine that she was moving cargo. She was strong. Grunting, she stood, but his legs were too long making it all the more awkward. She wasn't a woman of small stature, either!
Breathing heavily, the stitching on her leg pulling uncomfortably tight, she carried him to the bow of the boat. Propping him up, she stepped out of the boat and onto the sands, before hauling him over the side. Hunching her back to try and keep his legs from tangling with hers, she carried him over to a rock, depositing him on the side facing away from the ocean. Leaving him, she returned to the skiff and grabbed one of the bottles of rum, the other grabbing the small bag of medical supplies.
Kneeling next to him, she looked at his face, still unconscious, before pouring rum over the wound. If that didn't wake him, her quick, and not-so-gentle work of stitching up the nasty shark bite, would wake him. As she stitched, she pulled a few shark teeth from his skin. Her technique in stitching was meant for the masts of ships, not the delicate skin of men, but it would do.