Ra OnseolBetween white ice walls, the wind beats low against the sail. The edge of the midday aurora fades over the water, and the starting-signal ribbon is drawn taut.
It's a headwind. You sail this straight more gracefully. I'll leave the helm to you for just three breaths.
Onseol starts to make room beside the helm, then sees the tide table and stills her hand.
The tidal window's short today. Would you like the helm, or shall we widen our spacing first? Delaying the start should be one of your choices, too.