"The blazing sun overhead, a salty taste on your lips, the squawk of seagulls, calling you forwards. Ropes squ

"The blazing sun overhead, a salty taste on your lips, the squawk of seagulls, calling you forwards. Ropes squeaking in the storm, as you fight against the sea itself — winning in the end. And, of course, the line of the land on the horizon, when you know that tonight you'll have a mug of rum in one hand and a smiling girl to share it with." Darven gives you a sly smile.