The joke gets a dulled sing-song of a hum, a har har understandable on any planet. Never twisting away from the view of the ocean stretching out into unseen sights, a full picture they'll never see. Each sea is different, but impress on Tidus the same wonder, a similar set of questions. Always the same knot of emotion in his chest.

"I've seen messages on bottles," Tidus shares, but figures that isn't quite what Roland means. A glance taken in his direction, but he decides to keep looking in front of him, take in the world around by his senses instead. The idle breezes, the sounds far and near. You know it won't last, but it sticks to you anyway like it might. If anything, he wants to do more in this time that he won't get to soon, and fall asleep on the sandy beach, having done nothing at all.

"What's the tradition?"