From Klaudia's chosen spot atop the cliffs, Lan Wangji has an excellent if distant view of every person appearing above the waters. So it isn't as though he could miss the grey-robed figure dropping into the bay, or the faint shrill cries for help before he is carried ashore by the wildlife. His expression may even betray a brief moment of surprise and recognition.

But having known Nie Huaisang since childhood to be of little distinction or consequence, to plead for help or faint at the smallest inconvenience, Lan Wangji is far too accustomed to ignoring him to see any reason for assisting or greeting him now. And perhaps a small unkind sting of disappointment at him not being somebody else does not improve his motivation.

When it seems like no more people are arriving for the day, and the last stragglers are making their way up the precarious staircase nearby, Lan Wangji rises to his feet to pack up the small seating cushions he'd brought for Klaudia and himself. His robes, tailored and enchanted by her to glitter like freshly fallen snow, would be a beacon to anyone in the dreary autumn weather. But not to the one he'd come here to wait for, and he will carry that ache with him back to Camelot once more.