Sunken treasure.

Erroneous tales from the shores of the heart-wrenched islands.  An archipelago populated by wayward  beasts of people.  What sort of wreckage washes up onto the sands?  Perhaps the shards of nervousness, or the splinters of insecurity.  But these are the supplies they are afforded.  How then to build a life raft from the discards of a failed life?  All things, inlcuding time can be repurposed.  But I do not have that answer, or I would have sailed long ago.