Stavanger Bay catch-22

It had been twenty-two days since he'd returned. That was five-hundred and twenty-eight hours for him to repair his body, and he had done so with a great amount of sleep. The sleep had been forced upon him with the use of herbs by the pale woman of the trees, and the watcher of the coast — both tended to him with different efforts, resulting in a miraculous recovery.

There remained a great scar across the beast's throat. He awoke to the chill of winter and a strange tightness around his neck, but Tetsubo had learned not to disturb the bindings of the seaweed which had been placed there; it felt dangerous to him though, like the grip of his enemy remained upon his throat and could tear it out at any moment. But he lived. The herbs had done wonders - the pastes, the constant care.

The beast rose. He surveyed the surroundings for the oncoming doctors, and in finding he was alone, he chose to get to his feet and march to the borders. His work was not done — Tetsubo had gotten so close to matching Skellige's desires. Those children were out there, somewhere. He would find them. But he only just made it to the borders before he had to crack his lips and pant; he was exhausted, and not anywhere near fit enough to hunt for the (probably frozen and dead) spawn.