You splash into the water.
The warm clear waters of the ocean lap gently upon the black sand beaches just east. Dragons and their riders often come here to bathe and swim. The water buoys and relaxes you with its salty caress. Under the waves, schools of silvery fish dart about, sometimes tickling your legs as they race along the sandy bottom.
It is a winter noon.
On the beach, you see a brown and a bronze dragon.
You see Garak here.
Lanti is here.
Beach Deeper Waters
Out for a little pre-lunch dip, Lanti is wading in the shallows near a fairly content looking canine. It looks like Garak has been a little farther out going by his wet coat, but right now he's standing near the edge, just close enough that the passing waves brush his belly. The rider, meanwhile, is a little farther out, bobbing along on the bottom of the beautiful briny sea.
There is little fanfare, though a small amount of commotion up on the beach: two figures, one tall and lean and one short and round split up well away from the high tide mark. The latter resolves to Siraji, and the same lack of fanfare surrounds her entrance into the water. She wades past Garak with a quiet, "Hey, old man," because apparently aging canines are no longer a thing to fear; she keeps going, until the water supports her weight. "Yo, Weyrlingmaster," comes with a wave rather than a salute, and a sharp, upward hook of a (tired) grin.
Lanti, who had been just previously looking north along the shoreline, turns mid-bob to face the speaker of casual greetings. As soon as she spots the rotund version of Siraji, she grins right back and taps off an equally casual salute. "Yo, Incubator," the rider calls over, waiting for the current wave to subside before she starts wading in the redhead's direction. "Getting close, huh?" Garak, for his part, looks up at Siraji with a wide, panting sort of dog-smile and wags his sodden tail a couple times before leaning his head down to sniff at the salty water. Nope. Still can't drink that stuff, salty dog or no.
"At least my title's a temporary one," Siraji returns, her words interrupted by sharp snorts of laughter. Apparently the accuracy of Lanti's greeting, while an inconvenient truth, is none the less a funny one. "Yeah, we're figurin'. You've almost gotta new batch of idiots t' train up too, yeah?" Not having been on the sands herself, Saji's estimate is given with a little bit of a squint, and an absent, "Don't drink that, Dipsh--" that's clearly directed at Garak, but habitual rather than conscious.
Lanti nods her head in assent to Siraji's first statement, then has to push some dread-like hair back behind her ears. She, like her canine, appears to not have been fully underwater for a little while now, making her own red-blonde hair a little bedraggled. "Yeah, soon," she then answers, glancing down at her feet, finally visible through the water. Sadly, the waves are little too strong still to be able to sit. "Finally pushed the first batch into their weyrs, though a couple stragglers are still in the barracks. Should be empty within the sevenday. Enough time, I'm thinking. Hoping." Garak, comprehending a statement directed at him, looks up from his own water contemplation and wags his tail a few more times, the slow arc sending a few scattered droplets back into the shallows. Then, perhaps wishing for some real water, he turns toward drier sand. Oh look! A bucket.
The slightly too strong to sit in waves sway Saji back and forth -- just a little! -- as she plants her feet a little more firmly against the shifting sand of the ocean's floor. "Gotta get those kids kicked out," she says, for all that some of them may well be her age or even older; they are weyrlings. Therefore, they are kids. "Got enough hands t' get the couches all scrubbed down an' ready, once they're out?" It's hard to tell if she's volunteering (either herself or some unfortunate from her caravan), or just making conversation. She turns a little, to watch Garak make his way toward the shore, and shades her gaze as she looks beyond to the tall young man farther away on the beach.
"Made them do it themselves," Lanti answers with an amused smile. "Seemed only right. That's why two of them are still in the barracks. Can't have their freedom until they pass inspection." She also watches Garak head to shore, then with a quick breath, she gives Siraji another small nod. "Should go find some food before afternoon drills. More wing formations. Faranth help us." She winks, then wades until wading is no longer required, long feet leaving long footprints, then long divots, then finally nothing as she and Garak climb toward the plateau.
Siraji's farewell is somewhere between a wave and a salute; she lingers in the water for a while, but finally stops torturing her nervous escort. It isn't quite in Lanti's footsteps that she follows, though some of them, inevitably, overlap.