[ A puff of breath. Might be a laugh – yeah, that might be better – before something lurches in his gut. Cedric's arm thrusts against board, bracing for a swell that doesn't come. Mismatched in the boat's motion. ]
Don't wanna spit it back,
[ He admits, rueful. Still, he knows well enough to listen; folding leaf into cheek. There's something on her arm, can't make it out for the angle. Easier to take in the accent, the phrases; an Anchor to match his own.
Thrown in, ]
They call the Fade an ocean sometimes. Reckon we're lucky you got your sea legs.
no subject
Don't wanna spit it back,
[ He admits, rueful. Still, he knows well enough to listen; folding leaf into cheek. There's something on her arm, can't make it out for the angle. Easier to take in the accent, the phrases; an Anchor to match his own.
Thrown in, ]
They call the Fade an ocean sometimes. Reckon we're lucky you got your sea legs.