I wish I could claim some sort of foresight, but honestly I just can't swim.

[She pokes at the fire with a stick, nudging one of the dry driftwood logs into a more stable position; her nominal attention on the way the fire occasionally pops in odd colors from the salt in the wood doesn't remotely hide the way she's watching his annoyed fidgeting with a bit of a smile.]

I suppose it makes sense that you'd end up with tentacles, though. Unless that association's just a troll thing.