of the wind & the waves & the caves;
If it were any other day, he’d admire her pluck. (Then again, he isn’t much more than a boy, an age when girls - especially younger ones - are nothing more than an annoyance, so maybe that’s being generous.) Today, he simply doesn’t have the time. Instead of simply asking her, he snorts. “I mean, unless you’re out here for barnacles and washed-up bull-kelp…” As for her incredulity about his selkie spotting, Caspian only has a shrug to offer for that.
High overhead, Benvolio arcs toward the silhouettes on the beach, himself no more than a speck of black against the dark sky. The paint flicks an ear toward the girl’s question, though his gaze remains focused on the same figures. “Some not-so-nice men.” It does not seem worthwhile, in this instance, to lie, and he hopes the words will move her - literally.
At her next comment, his mouth curls in a smirk. “Always,” he quips simply. Ironically, though he was hiding something (on behalf of those men, hidden behind a table-sized boulder in one of the caves) all he was trying to do was keep them both unharmed.
The wreckers are close enough now that their voices echo over the water and the pebbles of the beach. Caspian’s ears flick back, and he turns toward the girl. “If you must stay, go hide in those caves - and stay quiet! But it would be best if you just listened to me and got out of here. We’re both fish food if you don’t.” Then he whirls from her (barely keeping from nipping at her cheek) and trots toward the men, praying he hadn’t waited too long. If they saw him standing with someone else, their suspicion would be grounds enough for more crimes than they were already committing.
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