Stavanger Bay And as you get back into line, a mob jumps to their feet

Roz was quick to snipe back with a pointed stare. A fleeting expression of true indignation struck his face before he snorted and turned away from her. Smokestep was taken aback at the direct inquiry, but he was not afraid to answer her. With a soft shrug of his shoulders, the tall lad frowned, still turned away. “Aye, it’s getting’ thar,” he growled in a quiet tone. For a pirate, it meant a lot that he was willing to release his pride in order to accept a new life that he had created for himself and his family. If he could boast that he wanted only what was best for the crew but not act on that, he was no better than a coward. Smokestep did not want to admit how difficult the task was, but he was pushing himself to try. That fear of losing those closest to him was ever present.
 
“It ain’t easy, I know, but ye won’t know if ye don’t try, Roz,” he urged her with another shrug. This time, when he met her gaze with his own, there was a softer tone in the mismatched colors of his eyes. “Don’t want ye to be a miserable gibbet fer the rest o’ yer life.” This was a jab at the life-long pledge that all of the crew had agreed to upon joining. If he was to be stuck with a sour First Mate, Smokestep would not have been pleased.