Ruth checks the ground too, crouching down and swiping a hand over it before she actually sits. It's...embarrassing, actually. Feels like being genuinely infirm--and really obvious about it.

"Mm-hmm. Please." She's quiet a moment, trying to remember the scent of saltwater. It's never too far away--not in New York or New Jersey, anyway--but more than the Shore, she's reminded of Muir Island, its crumbling buildings haunted with ugly memories. "In Scotland once...Pardon. Yes. I sat by the tide."

A pause, wrapping her arms around her knees. Somewhere behind her, the gangly man does the same, the collar of his vest hiding his jaw. "What does it sorry look like?"