I see. [Koby files it away, thoughtfully -- war isn't unfamiliar to him, but the idea of it being countries at conflict, of different pieces of a world, rather than one supreme whole... It's different than what Koby knows, of a world order and the pirates who threaten it with anarchy. It feels more complicated.] They have lots of bread here. [He means: I'll bring it to you. He means: I'll remember what you don't have and make it for you.

He eats less, watching quietly, sipping his coffee and nibbling his toast, shoulders loose and eyes thoughtful. Quentin has some of the easy, open gratitude that Koby's always liked in sailors, a simple understanding of sea and sky and salt, of the fleeting enjoyment in things like a good meal, good company, a tankard and a song and a favorable breeze. It makes the homesickness ease, replaces it with a warmth that has Koby smiling, propping his chin in one hand and watching Quentin eat.

The offered jam is obligingly licked off again, without embarrassment, and Koby mumbles around it:] I'll bring you more. They had other flavors, some I'd never even heard of. [There's jam on his lips, his chin and he grins around the strawberry in his mouth.] I want to try them all.