"Oh, none taken, none at all! Bardliness is a fine quality to have, if I do say so myself, and I'm flattered that you'd attribute such a quality to me, even by mistake." Fimble gives Tarag a most gracious bow.
The first mate chuckles and says, "Very good, very good! Now that these are settled, let us adjoin to the vessel, hmm?"
**FLASHFORWARD!!**
And now night falls.
The first mate is at the wheel, guiding the ship lazily, eyes ahead. A bullseye lantern points forward on the water, and another lantern hangs up in the crow's nest where a young man sits with his feet on the rail, probably asleep. The rest of the crew is sleeping, they're enjoying a nice break from rowing now that the wind is in their favor and there's no current working against them. On the return trip, it's the lake that will require their hard work, but for now, it's smooth sailing to Fallon.
The evening is quiet, the ripple of the water against the sides of the boat is soothing to your ears. The ship passes by few tiny islands, no more than large, mossy rocks really. It's difficult to make anything out, the moon is practically new, and the stars are the major contributors to light. The port and starboard sides of the ship have dim red and green flames, but they're meant only to signal to other vessels, not for giving light. Tarag's darkvision isn't much use for these long distances, but Fimble can see alright.
Then Fimble jumps up and whispers hoarsely to Tarag, "There's a ship navigating beyond that island ahead. Its lights are out, it's sailing stealth. I'm pretty sure it's going to intercept us up there."