She has little experienced dealing with men like him; in truth, she has little experience with men in general, minus the few moments with her father which had mostly been spent with his strange magic pouring knowledge into her veins. She does not shy away from him but neither does she reach for him. Instead she lets her silvery eyes study him as he rolls to his knees, as he shakes the sand from him, as he moves to the water as if he was coming home. She watches silently, taking it all in to think on later.
When he speaks, she angles a single ear to him, clearly paying attention, but she doesn’t reply.
Instead, a storm of thinking passes across her features, the impossibly beautiful brows drawing together, her mouth pulled into a thin line of contemplation. The silence between the listening and answering is perhaps too long, too quiet, but when she answers its in a voice of sea foam and silverbells, lyrical and lilting—quiet but each syllable carefully enunciated as if being heard for the very first time.
“The ocean,” a soft smile curls the edges of feminine lines. “The ocean brought me.”
It feels like a strange question to ask and she knows of no way to answer it without such honesty. Still, she doesn’t let her eyes stray from him, taking in the blue and the gold and the white of him—that alien beauty that she has no way of knowing is not commonplace among his gender. She doesn’t know if she should say more, and she takes a small step backward, feeling that tug of the tide around her ankles, that compulsion to slip back into the undercurrents. Something stills her though, and she pauses after that small step, watching him cautiously, curiously—hungry for some other piece of knowledge.
@[Ivar]