( There's an oily, grueling edge to his smile now, something painted-on. He gives it in the way of a trinket, another pleasantry to exchange without heart or cause. Hear him, then: )

Only a decade. ( But those at sea. And it's three years on land, for every one on water. It is known, this. A man who survives sailing can survive the world. ) Though, only two years ago, he would not have dignified me with the pleasure of joining his crew and his ship. And now I am his most cherished escort. Tides turn, little friend. Life finds a way for those who wait.