Did I really? [Koby looks immensely pleased with himself, following along with Quentin, careful to skirt the patches of mud in his bare feet, until he's on the splintery wood of the deck. Here, he relaxes, away from solid land, close to the water, even if the water is just a modest-sized lake. The canvas bag he's taken to toting around is on the dock as well, and Koby scoops it up quickly, holding it to his chest.

Quentin's stepped down into the boat, and there's a moment where he's standing there, sailor stance, moving easily with the gentle rock and tilt of the water, and Koby can almost imagine him on the deck of a real ship, on the real sea. It makes his chest go tight, thinking about -- what that must have been like, seeing Quentin in his element. Seeing him at home.

But: that's the point of all this, right? Taking a breath, Koby nimbly steps down into the rowboat as well, reaching out to hold onto Quentin's arm as he does, making a face at him.] You're going to scandalize the fish and I'll never catch anything again. Sit down before you tip over. [No danger of that, but if he's not bossing Quentin around, what's he doing.]