The water pump wasn't just broken. It was missing a pressure valve. Without it, the well would freeze solid in six hours. The settlement would die.
The Pilgrim examined the machinery. He checked his satchel. Nothing fit.
He didn't reach for his bag. He reached for his own left arm. With a sickening screech of tearing metal, he ripped the hydraulic pressure regulator from his own elbow joint.
His left arm fell useless to his side, swinging like a pendulum. He installed the part into the well pump with one hand. It fit perfectly.
He walked away into the snow, listing slightly to the right. The children watched him go, drinking fresh water from cupped hands.