Dragoncrest Cliffs angel

Chantale is competitive, and harbors quite the attitude. If Coraline were any younger, perhaps she would have given her own devilish flash of ivory, but she was not that girl anymore. Her eyebrows lift unceremoniously as she watches.
The girl swims rather clumsily, limbs flailing in what Coraline could only assume was a panic. Instinctively, she reaches her own limbs out; holding herself afloat with her hind, muscles flexing as the sea ripples at her sides.
Tread de water, Chantale, she motions with the tip of a slender nose to the rhythm of her own limbs. Smooth, practiced; seaborne. Like dis, gade?