"Very true," muses the witch, reaching down to scratch her ankle, which -- along with the rest of her -- is a little bit pink from sun and salty air.

They sit in companionable silence for a few moments, and then 'Dora's smile fades a little, her voice dropping to just above a murmur. This ship's small enough; she doesn't feel like fueling the rumors that inevitably come with boredom and confined spaces.

"How's it going with Will?"