It would be nice to dive, to hit the water with her hands to cut it open, to be propelled down into the depths. But she's on the beach. All she can do is walk, slowly, confidently, into the water. Running attracts their attention. Walking, even walking in an unexpected direction, is easy enough for the eye to miss as she sinks into the waves, and then she starts to swim. The Silver Divers specialize in swimming, after all. The water deadens scent, but her eyes kick in to compensate. She holds her breath and feels the pressure slowly fill her body as she hugs the sand, her fur sleek as an otterskin, immersed in the sea. Once she gets out from the beach, once she gets to the drop, she'll take one more breath, face sticking out of the water briefly, and then she'll be able to drop.

The coral's beautiful, once you hit the drop. The sun slants through the water, illuminating the Divers' Garden. This is where she plays-- not here, exactly, not this precise spot, but all along the coast. This is another training ground, another place where she can race her packmates, another battleground full of advantages. Here is where she has learned to knife-fight in a place without air; here is where she has learned how to free herself from weights. Here is where she has learned how long she can hold her breath; here is where she has learned how to share her breath with a packmate who is floundering.

It didn't take her long at all to learn how to think in three dimensions. She earned praises for that, and envious glares, and extra chores maintaining the underwater defenses. It just came so naturally. She doesn't have a mobility pack here, but if she did, she'd be jetting along, eyes squinting as the water rushes past her face, making automatic adjustments at a level underneath thought. She might be the little Ember of the pack, but the sea can't quench her fire. It loves her too much.