Izzy sat on the edge of his bed, his makeshift crutch resting against the bed beside him and a bottle of rum in hand. He looked awful, hell, he felt awful. His hair was like a dark greasy mop and face hollow and drained as hus eyes seemed slumberless. He had lost his dignity, his leg, and now his captain, whom he loved against all better judgement. To make matters worse, the ship was now blindly adrift at sea without a wheel.

Izzy truly was lost, without an anchor to depend on.