"It'd be my pleasure," he says with a twinkle in his eye and a pang in his stomach. The dunskin had half-expected her to be repelled by his invitation, for it took a certain... acquired taste to appreciate the benefits of a desert as a holiday destination. He had expected, at most, a polite 'no thank you', or even a false promise to visit in the future. Then again, maybe I've misled her - after all, I didn't once mention the word 'desert'. Will she be horrified when she arrives?

He swallows against a lump in his throat and turns to lead the way, suddenly all boyish awkwardness.

The sea is colder than he had remembered it; it's a shock to his warm skin as he splashes into its swirling blue depths, but he suppresses a grimace, instead glancing over his shoulder to check on Carly and flashing her a playful smile. He's quiet on the swim, concentrating mainly on keeping afloat atop the churning waves and entertaining himself with thoughts of how El Aran will react when she sees her lead stallion arrive home with another mare in tow (that is, if she sees them), but still he keeps his ears keen and pricked in case his acquaintance decides to speak during their trek.

When finally they arrive, it's onto a vast flat baked prairie of bare earth, cracked under the relentless sunlight of the noontime sun. No gulls linger here, for it's far too warm for such common creatures, so it's eerily silent but for the crashing of the waves. Encantador shakes his coat and scans the gently undulating dunes on the horizon for any signs of life, but he can see nothing. We'll have privacy: at least for now.

His heart's in his throat when he turns to Carly, and though he tries to hide it, his knees are trembling (whether from nerves or exhaustion even he is not sure). "Well, here we are," he announces as the sun and arid breeze dry his creamy-white fur. He raises a brow at the mare, attempting to gauge her reaction. "Is it what you expected?"