Cymoril took her time strolling towards the beach, allowing the breeze to caress her skin. They had chosen an ideal morning to head out - relatively calm weather, the ocean was churning restlessly, the scent of the water was in the air. Barefoot, Cymoril occasionally allowed herself to pause dig her toes into the sand.
Something she had always enjoyed doing, though such memories were growing old and stale.
Though her pace increased, it had a lazily playful manner to it. Hands reached out, fingers stroked over things, plucked a flower or two for no reason other than they were pretty. Absently twining one flower through her thick dark hair, her eyes scanned until she found the other person.
That must be Honey.
Quietly, Cymoril walked up to him, absently offering him a flower to braid into his hair.