A wise choice, less because Aenor's likely to be offended and more because she'd be unsure how to break it to the poor fellow that Caric seems to love nothing as he does chatter. "You ask me to put my life in your hands."

But as soon as she's said that, she strips off one layer, a sort of surcoat of linen that's been fluttering around her knees all this time. Underneath is more linen, a sand-colored shirt, left untied at the collar, and her trousers, already dark with lake water where she hasn't bothered to cuff them. Balling up the surcoat, she tosses it toward the rest of their things, but it's too light to make it all the way. "My trust, it is in you, Vanadi. No drowning."