Maria has been united with the unusual bag containing her clothing and a number of other items she has yet to sort through, and it's welcome enough that she won't yet question the convenience of it. In her head, she knows that washing ashore naked only to find her own dry tunic and trousers waiting for her is one of several oddities that should alarm her...but doesn't, which itself gives her pause. She wonders what her erstwhile companion would make of that — that it is not a sense of danger but its absence that is the source of any wariness. The contradiction seems quite in line with the Assassins' way of thinking.
With exquisite timing, a brief bit of splashing beyond the shore catches her attention, and she looks over just in time to see a hand flail above the surface. This far out, she can't be certain that it is a four-fingered hand, but somehow she knows. Maria stares for a moment longer, but he does not surface, and it seems he won't — or can't.
"Oh, for Heaven's sake," she mutters to herself. She's only managed to pull on her tunic, but then her sturdy trousers would only be a hindrance. Wading into the shallows and then swimming out as the water gets deeper, she summons memories of youthful, sneaked swimming time in the ponds of Leicestershire.
Her body remembers as well as she could ask it to, and she dives beneath the surface with the intent to grasp an arm, pull him to the surface, help buoy him up if it's possible. It seems Maria has discovered the one thing she can do that Altaïr cannot, but she has no experience rescuing anyone from drowning. All she can do is make the attempt and pray that this too is within her capabilities.
washing up
With exquisite timing, a brief bit of splashing beyond the shore catches her attention, and she looks over just in time to see a hand flail above the surface. This far out, she can't be certain that it is a four-fingered hand, but somehow she knows. Maria stares for a moment longer, but he does not surface, and it seems he won't — or can't.
"Oh, for Heaven's sake," she mutters to herself. She's only managed to pull on her tunic, but then her sturdy trousers would only be a hindrance. Wading into the shallows and then swimming out as the water gets deeper, she summons memories of youthful, sneaked swimming time in the ponds of Leicestershire.
Her body remembers as well as she could ask it to, and she dives beneath the surface with the intent to grasp an arm, pull him to the surface, help buoy him up if it's possible. It seems Maria has discovered the one thing she can do that Altaïr cannot, but she has no experience rescuing anyone from drowning. All she can do is make the attempt and pray that this too is within her capabilities.