Hrífa hummed in sprightly agreement, not stopping to lollygag and gape at the ship from afar. After all, he was convinced that there were "better" and "worse" seats on the ship, and he had to claim one quickly for himself. Walking past the squabblers, he smirked victoriously to himself; this, he could argue, was why being alone benefited people more than it harmed them! Smug, and smooth like a dense boiling cream, he hopped aboard, having no need for the nearby gangplank. Soon he was crouch-crawling along the hull's length like a crab, measuring the benches by some strange standard, dragging his sleeping bag along behind him.

"The wind is always near us. Always it licks at our ears and tousles our hair," said the bald-shaven witch. "Every day is a good day to sail, if the sailor is skilled enough."