Kneeling down on the bank, close enough to the water that she's almost touching it and ready to drag him back out again if need be (not, notably, with her hands), Ilde nods and watches, her fingers curled into the mud and her backside resting on her heels. She thinks first that it'll be safer if he has his eyes on the deeper parts of the water and not on her, even if it limits their ability to communicate; a moment later she suspects that to be an anxiety placebo. There are all manner of possibilities for what they could be dealing with where it won't make a damned bit of difference which way he's looking.

“What do you feel?”