Adam opened the first soil sack after breakfast.
The contents were still damp from the island.
He could make a ball of it in his fist without water running out.
That was better than the chopped kelp in his first planter, but the sack would not do the work of a container.
A long swell had already tipped it against the storage crate twice.
Chloe held the mouth open with her right hand while he tied it again.
Her left wrist was wrapped and resting in her lap.
The swelling had gone down a little overnight.
She could turn the hand, but putting weight on it still made her stop.
“How many crates?” she asked.
“Two.
One for radishes, one for the beans.”
“And the third bag?”
“Keep it closed.
Owen might still trade the potatoes.”
Chloe looked at the older planter.
Four radish leaves stood above a shallow mix of kelp and grit.
They had grown, but the stems were thin.
Adam had started them ten days earlier without soil because he had nothing better.
He put a finger beside one plant and felt how loose the medium had become after watering.
He left the roots alone.
“Are you moving those?” Chloe asked.
“No.
We don’t know if they’ll survive it.
The new seeds can have the good soil.”
He had enough Wood for both crates.
Rope was the problem: the two tiles had used most of what they had carried off the island.
One length remained dry under the shade.
Harlan was checking the joins between the rafts when Adam asked whether he had a spare.
“Only what’s holding us together,” Harlan said.
“There was kelp alongside my raft at dawn.
I can bring some up.”
He pushed his raft out on the joining rope, reached with the hook pole and lifted a dripping strand aboard.
Adam took another from beside Chloe’s raft.
They spread it in the sun, then turned it over whenever the upper side dried.
Chloe sat beside it and pulled out the fibres she could separate with one hand.
Adam helped with the thicker pieces while Harlan kept the rafts from swinging across each other.
By midday there was enough dry material to start twisting, though not enough finished Rope for a crate.
Chloe tried to pin one end beneath her foot and work the fibres against her thigh.
The loose end kept sliding away.
She cursed, made a shorter bundle and tried again.
“Let me do that,” Adam said.
“You’re building the first box.”
“I can stop.”
“And then neither one gets done.” She passed him the end she had twisted.
“Tie this to the shade post.
I need it held still.”
He tied it where she could reach without leaning on her wrist.
She worked slowly, using her right hand to roll each group of fibres, then winding the groups together.
When the twist started to come apart, she caught it with a knee and began that section again.
The injury cost her time, but the rope grew.
Adam laid out six pieces of Wood near the sound side of the raft.
He had built the storage crate weeks ago; the Planter recipe used the same frame and added a shallow base.
He checked the placement before confirming, making sure the new box would not block the route to the two purifiers.
It sat inside the added tiles, away from the corner that still lifted under a hard step.
[Proper Planter: 6 Wood, 1 Rope, 1 Soil sack.]
He used the rope he already had.
The boards fitted together in a low rectangle.
He poured in the first sack, broke up two clods with his fingers and spread the soil evenly.
The bed was deeper than the old planter.
He put four radish seeds in it, leaving space between them instead of scattering the whole packet.
Chloe passed him the watering bottle.
“Not all of it,” she said.
“That soil’s wet underneath.”
He checked with a finger, then added only enough water to settle the top.
No water ran from the bottom.
The recipe marked the planter as active.
[Proper Planter: Radish x4.
Medium: Soil.]
By morning Chloe’s Rope had dried.
Adam tested it, and Harlan gave it a hard pull.
It held.
“It’ll hold a box of dirt,” Harlan said.
“It’s a planter,” she said.
“A box of dirt with a name.”
She laughed and reached for the next soil sack.
Adam took the weight before she could drag it across the raft.
They set the second planter beside the radishes, where Chloe could reach it without leaning on her wrist.
The soil held more sand and leaf pieces than the first sack.
Adam spread it and brought out the broad beans.
“Three?” Chloe asked.
“Three.
If one fails, we still have the others.”
He pressed each seed down to the depth the System showed.
The spaces between them looked wide compared with the radishes, but the bean plants would need the room if they grew as large as Owen had described.
He covered the holes and gave the bed a little water.
The screen confirmed three seeds planted.
Chloe took the empty sack and tried to fold it with her right hand.
Adam held one corner while she flattened the other.
They put it in the storage crate.
The third full sack stayed tied beneath the shade, where it would not be soaked by a wave.
The two new planters changed how they moved around the raft.
Adam had to turn sideways between the beans and the Cook Stand.
Chloe could reach the radishes from where she usually sat, but the beans were too far over for her injured arm.
Harlan offered to move his raft alongside that edge during watering.
Adam tried it once and found he could step across to tend them without leaning over the water.
Later that day, one of the fruit from the island split where it had bruised.
They shared it before it spoiled.
Chloe saved the seeds in the folded paper with the others.
The fruit was sweet enough to make the raw fish they had eaten at noon seem worse by comparison.
Harlan asked whether the next planter would be fruit.
Adam pointed to the last sack of soil.
“Potatoes first, if Owen has them.
I don’t know how much space a fruit plant needs.”
“He can tell you,” Chloe said.
“You ask him about everything else that grows.”
Adam sent Owen a short message about the soil and the beans.
Owen was offline.
Adam left the message there and checked the old planter.
One radish leaf had bent where rain had knocked it against the rim.
He lifted it free.
The stem remained upright when he let go.
Toward evening the three rafts passed through a patch of loose debris.
Harlan took an oar and pushed a crate lid away from the join.
Adam tried to reach another board with the hook pole, but it passed to their left before he could pull it in.
Harlan caught nothing more.
They had used most of their Wood on the planters, and the lid would have helped, but following it would have pulled the joined rafts sideways across the current.
Frey’s group was visible ahead.
His larger raft had an oar fixed at the back, and the people around him had room to row without crossing one another.
As Adam watched, the larger raft turned toward a darker line on the horizon.
The smaller rafts near it followed.
The three joined rafts kept their old course.
“He’s going toward something,” Adam said.
Harlan rested his oar across his knees.
“He steered at the island.
We drifted to it.”