Rutile startles when Antarc's voice carries over the soft roar of the sea and a wave smacks their torso as they turn. It's difficult to make out Antarcticite's pale figure against the white sand and the bright sun, but there they are, a moving spot tossing black shoes back onto the shore.

Rutile closes their eyes and counts to three. They'd been rather hoping to go alone and have some peace and quiet to themselves, but their responsibility to Antarcticite is greater than that. Calmly they make their way through the water to meet the other gem.

"It's fine, Antarcticite," they say when they're within earshot - of speaking normally, and not shouting. "There's no need to worry about me."