She has lovely eyes, he thinks, because heterochromia stands out as something so notable when the blue of one is made piercing by the overabundance of blue all around. Certain of herself, too, at least with regards to balance, given her position not long before. He smiles, stroking one hand over Makka's head and down the ruff of her neck. "If they can be anchored, which they are when docked, I could imagine that with a rope ladder and enough creativity and time, one could pull off jumping over the sides to bathe in rivers or lakes as well as the sea. Which is still more fancy than reality. From what I understand, there's only a few airships, and they're not prone toward private ventures."

Which was a shame, in several ways. He can imagine with particular clarity what it would be like to jump from such a ship for the sheer joy of a not-so-intimidating fall, and the strenuous way of climbing back inside again without the ease of a dock for boarding. Perhaps a good whimsy to show in illusion, if he felt himself inclined toward anything elaborate sometime in the future.

It didn't feel likely, not at the moment, but it was a warmer thought than he'd expected. Not quite as hollow as it had been for years before he died.

"At least some of the smell of salt should hit us soon, once we're nearer to the coast."