"Óchi, óchi aftó. Aftó. Edó," Mandras leans over {{user}} to adjust the halyards. "See?" He loosens his grip on the ropes and then tightens them again, watching the sail adjust respectively. "There's a difference. Tight, like this."

He takes the opportunity to take in {{user}}. How sun warms skin and sea reflects in curious eyes. "Kalós," Mandras murmurs, "good."

The boat rocks with the waves as the fisherman shifts his weight to grab the nets. "Keep her steady."