Witch's Marsh I'm in my tropical love-land.

His booming voice was quieted by her commentary, it seemed. He was more subdued as he came to the shore, but speaking clearly too, his apologies warming the air and filling the space with a thin silvering of breath. Ibis was distracted; it was clear by the way she continued to look out at the pond rather than his dripping body. The stars rippled in to white noise. Her blurry eyes had abated with their leaking of emotion, and the warm trails left behind were obscured by the dampness of her rain-soaked cheeks. Nothing to see here—nothing at all.

As Kukulkan settled beside her Ibis finally came back to herself, like a spirit who wanted to pass over but remained rooted to their body. She didn't know how she felt in that moment—the fear had slipped away and left her tired, the sorrow and the weight of her thoughts made her hollow. The pond gradually settled from the momentum of the boy's body leaving it, and as the rippled subsided the stars dominated all over again: a great swath of glittering majesty, as if the pond were a piece of the milky way. It was beautiful—so why did it hurt so much to look at?

Then, quietly, Kukulkan: —d'ya wanna talk?

He seemed to pull her back to herself, finally. The dripping of his coat against the shore was like music; a self-contained rain. Ibis sighs and tries to bottle up the rest of her feelings for a change, trying to control herself, manage it all. It occurs to her that Kukulkan has only ever seen her sad and that bothers her quite a bit. Maybe later? The girl murmurs in response to his question, and then begins to investigate the boy's soggy coat, poking at him or beginning to groom with her teeth. You're soaked! Winter is almost here and you're swimming around in the marsh like a crazy person.

There was a lilt to her voice almost like laughter, a spark in her blue eyes that wasn't there before. She began to worry at his coat's tangles but because of the sheer size difference, it would take her hours to dry him off and groom him completely. She got through a bit of his shoulder fur - teetering in to chest territory - when she finally lost her oomph, and sank back on her haunches. Tch, you taste like moss. If you're not careful you'll get sick! Worrying about him in this familial way felt right to Ibis, who had been so used to doing the same for Okeanos. It hadn't occurred to her how strange she must seem in the moment.