[ A touch of a smile when she corrects herself. The question gets a chuckle. ]

Honestly? Wet. Unendingly wet. The saltwater is everywhere, all the time, endlessly, and when it dries on you [ he shakes his head, beads rattling in his dreads ] good luck, you may as well have sandpaper strapped inside your pants. Food's not bad, if you pick out the weevils -- there's a trick to that, you know, if you have a hot drink on hand -- and you don't mind breaking your teeth on month-old biscuits. The sun's blazing hot, the crew stinks to high hell, and the food's run low while port's another couple weeks out.

[ He lifts a finger. ] That's the tough of it. The best of it? [ His expression becomes a tad more wistful. ] Seeing the sun rise above an infinite, endless expanse of blue ocean. The fresh sea air on your face, every morning, every waking moment. At night, nothing but the sound of waves on the hull and the creak of the ship. The crew, your men, all thick as brothers as we are, singing and dancing during the dull days. Most of all, the freedom to live an' do as you please, anywhere you want to.

There's nothing better in the world, lass.