Douzheng begins to stir. The familiar feeling of wearing clothes drenched in seawater gradually gains his attention, alongside the methodical swooshing of waves spreading up and down a shoreline. He comes to, and sits up, taking in his surroundings. A sharp headache mars the clarity of his thoughts, and the sting of salted eyes is immediately noticeable. Lacking anything to clear them with, he simply hopes that he tears up enough to dispel the irritation. He takes note of his immediate surroundings- sand, stones, driftwood, the sea, a thick treeline, remnants of the ship that he was on, and-
"Uurgh..."
Douzheng's attention snaps toward the moan. It is a woman- the spouse of the man that owns Douzheng.
"F-Famulus... Where is Atticus?", she weakly inquires.
Douzheng responds simply: "I don't know."
She looks at Douzheng, and he can see everything her eyes have to tell. One of them is dilated, the other is not. She is deeply afraid of the situation, and is unable to even attempt to hide it. Lying prone, she supports her upper torso with her arms bent 90 degrees, both forearms laying flat and parallel to eachother. "Help me s-sstand," she utters. Douzheng himself is in poor condition to stand, but nevertheless stumbles his way to her. He begins to help her up by her arms, when she shrieks out in pain and escapes his grip. Falling on her side, it becomes apparent why she screamed- her whole midsection looks brutalized, presumably by being ground against debris during the ship's collapse. One of the lacerations is so severe that a portion of intestine is herniating through, ever so slightly. The sand where she was lying is drenched in her blood. It becomes evident that she hadn't yet moved since she'd woken up, as there was no blood elsewhere on the shore, besides a scuff of Douzheng's left by a minor cut on his arm.
As she writhes around, she repeats her request: "Help... m-m-me... stand!" - but Douzheng simply watches. She notices the bulging gut, and simply starts forcing it back inside... with her sand-laden hands. It becomes apparent to Douzheng that she is delirious, and not only from bloodloss, as her right ear is also bleeding ever so modestly. Both severely concussed and mortally wounded, she repeats her question again. "Help me stand," she says. Douzheng hangs his head slightly, realizing the severity of her condition. He leaves her, powerless to help (and a bit uninterested in doing so anyway). As she continues her less and less coherent ramblings, Douzheng seeks out what little he can salvage from the wreckage.
He finds little, but does come across a sealed pot of wine, which miraculously wasn't shattered or contaminated. It's a simple, modest vessel- almost like a jar, rather than a proper amphora. He also finds a worn section of rope, unfit for its original purpose but still capable of mild utility. Eventually, he also finds a wood chisel, though its handle has become loose. A rotten bundle of grapes makes itself apparent- no other food survived at all. He collects the grapes, despite their status.
He brings everything he collected back to the site where he woke up. The woman is now unconscious, with blood smeared on her hands and abdomen. Douzheng collects her stola, her palla, and her fascia. He dries everything to the best of his ability, and takes off his tunic, doing the same to it, shortly before suspending it with a log and a branch of driftwood, so that air may do the rest. In the meantime, he wears the woman's stola and wraps the palla around his abdomen, almost like a belt. Because of it wrapping around more than once, it provides him with the ability to carry things by simply jamming them in between the layers. He immediately does so with the rope coil. He folds the fascia into a very small and simplistic pouch, which he then deposits the seeds of the spoiled grapes into. The pouch joins the rope in the palla-belt. Incidentally, the palla also covers up the huge gaps in the stola, which proves rather fortunate.
Sitting on a piece of driftwood, he stops and realizes how emotionless and methodical he'd just been for the last ten or so minutes. While being shipwrecked should be alarming, he simply doesn't have it in him to feel anxious. For at least 14 years, he'd been a slave - and, strange as it is, being marooned has liberated him.