Taking the face-full of water that Cirrus claps up towards him with her wings, he can’t help but think that she has an unfair advantage in this game of splashing. His nose and legs can’t move that much water at once, and as the waves roll across his body and he bobs like a tricolored cork, he takes in the sound of her laughter and decides he doesn’t mind. Its just a slight advantage, anyway – he’s stronger than he is and seems to be able to cut the water better than she can, though she is more bold and had swam further out than he would ever dare before having looped back around to play with him.

He ignores the notion that it’s a game at all (no matter that it is), disliking the child-like sound of the word and deciding in his mind that it is only a brief escape from the confines of adulthood, a glimpse into the bright spring of his life before he was forced back into its summer. Pushing his hind hooves into the soupy sand beneath the water, he propels his body through the water, languid and slow despite the power of his push, forelegs tucked up to his chest and hooves flicking upwards to send another sheet of water playfully pattering towards his newfound friend.

Yet, even before the water reaches her, her smile has fallen and she seems to fold in on herself, as if made of paper and finally overcome by the water that saturates her. Limp, her wings drip to either side of her, and a faint trembling overcomes her skin that the sensitive stallion takes note of most immediately; with a rush of concern sweeping his features he busies his hooves in the water to carry him quickly towards her side, wondering if she has breathed in some of the sea or has hurt herself on an unseen boulder or submerged branch.

She’s choking when he reaches her, a horrible sound that turns into sobs that flip his heart inside out.

The wind picks up around them, making the water cold where it streaks down his pelt and back into the ocean where it had been borrowed from. His blue eyes are crinkled beneath brown lids in worry, his dark muzzle reaching out tentatively towards the woman he barely knows but does not wish to see so sad.

"Cirrus?" he asks, many questions folded neatly into her name and held back for fear of making her crying worse, and while he hesitantly and fretfully hovers about her, the worries cascade through his mind and stumble upon on another as his hooves do in the clear, warm water below,
"Cirrus...are you okay? Let’s get out of the water. Did you breath some on accident?" Gently, he walks alongside her, placing his bulk nearby enough to be a guide and a shoulder to lean on if she wishes it, but his worries that she is drowning on swallowed water flit like deranged flies through his thoughts and the deeper ones that he has offended her somehow ping and patter in his thoughts like a freed maelstrom of bullets and hail.

He won’t leave her here if she doesn’t follow, but he’d certainly feel better to have her safely on the sand.