I had scarcely recovered the next morning when Sawtooth showed up at our temporary dwellingplace. At first I could hardly differentiate the pounding on the door from the pounding in my head, but when I opened it to check, he stood outside, looking irresponsibly chipper.

“Come, drypony!” he growled. “Let us go on our hunt.”

Rubbing my eyes blearily, I made an attempt to protest, but he assured me that I had agreed to accompany him at some point the night previous. When I brought up my unsuitability for ocean travel, he produced a mask-device that had been enchanted to provide oxygen. I was left without any firm excuses.

Putting aside my hangover, I agreed to go...
Nonetheless, I declined the opportunity...