It's cold out here on the water, though she expects that might change soon. The sun's only just coming up, turning the tops of the trees from dark smudges across the grey sky to a hot burnished brass. The way the boat sways from the pull of Joel's oar through the water makes her stomach go in knots, loosening in turn as the wooden hull coasts quietly away from the force between each row.

"Psh, have I ever cast a line," She scoffs and peels her fingers from the bench, feet shuffling around the tackle box and poles in the bottom of the boat. After a moment of steadying herself against the side, Ellie bends down to ungainly lift one of the rods up. She swings it around clumsily. "No, but how hard can it be."