Izzy scowls at the curly-eared youth as he treads water with ease. I am ready, she wants to protest, but it is clear by her hesitation that she isn't, really, and for all she seeks that thrilling drop in the pit of her stomach, she also fears to feel it. The bay girl leans forward in the water, frustrated with the dichotomous war within her. She wants to be brave and bold like Jay and yet she feels rooted to the soft bank under her feet, incapable of taking that last step that will set her at the mercy of the lake, afraid of that buoyant, weightless feeling that Jay describes as flying. Her scowl deepens to mask her unease. She wants to ask him when he's flown, or if he knows just because he shares a name with a bird, but before she can he dives.

Isabella stands poised on the tips of her toes, alert, watchful, worried as she counts the number of heartbeats he remains submerged. Her eyes dart over the smooth surface of the lake as if she can pierce its depths while the tempo beating in her chest picks up speed. It's easy to imagine all number of horrors happening below: Jay mauled by a shark, Jay strangled by an eel, Jay crushed by a whale; over and over terrible scenarios unfold, each worse than the last and locking her muscles ever-tighter until finally he bursts through the surface, unbloodied and triumphant. "Jay!" she tries to scold, but her relief is so great that he isn't drowned or devoured that his name is carried on her shaky laughter.

He holds something limp and green in his mouth, and, believing it to be some fish or snake, Izzy recoils as he draws near to her with it. She holds fast as he reaches over her to drape the thing over her neck, bringing his own quite close to her face. He smells of the singularly green odor of the lake, wet and algaeic, like a kelpie risen from the depths. The thing he places in her mane is cold, a wet shock that draws from her a reflexive shudder and a disgusted expulsion of air directly against his bi-colored coat. "Ugh! That's slimy," she protests, ducking her head even as he draws it off so she might examine it. With wrinkled nose, Izzy pokes at the dangling weed. It looks so sad compared to those still underwater, which wave gently in the greenish-deep as if the same wind tousling their forelocks blows there, too.

One rich brown ear trains on Jay as she takes the weed delicately from him. It's gross, but out of consideration of the gift she maintains her hold on it, tonguing it to the front of her mouth so that she can grasp it between her teeth as he tries to gently coax her into deeper water. The weed tastes overwhelmingly of lake. For a moment she stands, indecisive, until his reassurances prompt her to place it gently on the surface of the lake and meet his eyes with gratitude. But— "All right," she says with false bravado. "I'll give your trick a try. How hard can it be?" and so saying, Izzy draws in a huge breath before she leaps forward, her impressive jump reduced to a mere hop from the resistance she meets from the water. Then she's floundering, panicked, legs churning as rapidly as she's able even as her chest sinks, her neck, down to the bottom of her jaw before her strokes become even and measured long enough to prove to herself that she's afloat, she's not drowning at all.

Izzy tries to swim in a circle to see Jay's face. As she cranes her head toward him her movement becomes choppy, and she starts sinking again. It takes effort, concentration to remain afloat, and it shows on her face as she struggles to keep herself above the lake. But float she does, and Izzy turns a dazzling smile toward Jay, understanding now what he meant. "Look, look!" she cries, losing her rhythm once again in her excitement and dunking herself a second time, but she surfaces quickly, still laughing. "I'm flying!"