Whitefish River Afraid of the Empty but Too Safe on the Shore

The moment he hits the water may be the closest Dante's ever come to Nirvana. 
It's jarring, sure, the pool having been significantly cooler than he had predicted and deep enough that it takes him a few moments before he drinks in the delicious air above. Still, there's something about the water that throws his mind into momentary ecstasy, nostalgia ringing in his bones and flashes of a once-home flickering behind his eyelids. 

He breaches the surface with a gasp, blinking droplets from his eys and shaking his head messily as he paddles to stay afloat. There's a gentle laugh of surprise and relief that escapes him, but it's quickly interrupted by the cadence of an unfamiliar voice. Dante's head whips towards the stranger, a smile blooming on his face when he recognizes the amicability in their tone. Though water blurs his vision a bit, he's able to make out the dark form of another, someone he presumes is a man by the register of their speech. Quite! Though it's a bit, a shiver runs up his spine, adding a slight shake to his words, chilly, innit?

Though he's content in his spot in the water now, curiosity prickles at the young man, driving him forwards out of the shallows and onto the shore, his head cocking as he observes his new acquaintance. You must be one of my elusive new packmates then, he breathes out on a laugh, a gentle quirk to his brow as his gaze sweeps the other.