God, he doesn't know. He has to count, slowly, tracing back the days in his mind.

"Couple months. Three? Four?" He scratches at the rough beard that's begun to darken the lower half of his face. He keeps forgetting to shave, reaching that standard-issue unkemptness typical for people who have sunk into a dissociative haze for a couple weeks, or maybe who have been grappling with island survival. "My memory's not too great, so I can't say exactly."