The tiefling glances up from scanning the waters at the greeting, assessing the new arrivals even as he smoothly slips the courier back into a pocket. His hooves don’t find easy purchase in the sand beneath them, but he seems unworried by it. He doesn’t greet the new arrivals nearly as cheerfully, but he doesn’t ignore them either, inclining his head in easy acknowledgement.

What he doesn’t say is, ‘I know you from the Courier. I know what you are, just like me.’

“Less eerie than a whole bay emptying itself,” he answers mildly. “Can’t blame anything for staying away.” He raises a hand and makes a sharp, short series of calls, and the osprey lazily wings her way down. Perched on his hand, she ruffles her feathers and runs through them with her beak.

“She’s not had much luck with fish.”