Her eyes drink in hungrily the sight of Cass' retreating back and she can pinpoint why she finds the view so interesting, if the interest is not typical in nature. Cass is riddled with scars, lacerations, bullet wounds, just as she is, and not for the first time in her life she thinks something selfishly, with a swell in her chest: Someone like me.

With a brief interlude to strip off the last of her clothing - somehow, strangely, that much is shyly, almost mortified to be doing so for some reasons she doesn't answer or describe. She's quickly diving into the water with a less than graceful leap forward, immersing herself completely for a few long seconds.

She resurfaces and throws her hair back with a spray and a throaty laugh. "I do not mind the cold," she explains cheerfully, splashing a bit of water Cass' way - playfully, innocuously - as she wades her way over. "In Ukraine, the ice could stick to your shoes, it would be so cold." She sighs softly. It's like home and not all at once.