As Glacius makes it to the water, Carlisle is still edging himself over there, finally coming to a stop just where the waves lap at the shore. They reach toward him as the water sweeps to and from the beach, pulling the sand along with it as it recedes.

"Right," he answers Glacius noncommittally, apprehension building on his face the longer he looks at the water and thinks about it pulling him in, then pulling him down, down, down. It goes so far out, disappears into the horizon—

"Nothing treacherous," he utters, a nervous smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, then fading almost immediately. How far out could it pull him? How deep does it go? And when he cannot see the bottom, is there one at all, or does it simply drop into a darkened abyss?

His eyes dart to Glacius, who is doing his best to make Carlisle feel welcomed in the water, and yet, he struggles to move. When he does, it is a single step. The water is cool against his feet, but doesn't drag him under.

Yet, at least. "I did it," he mutters, the trepidation still written across him. "Good. That's good for today. Maybe forever."

But he did get that far, and in his mind, that counts for something, as it's more than his usual effort when he's battling his own unease.