His climbing "habits" are an integral part of his work... though they do make him a bit top heavy. They're perfect for giving Maria a boost, so this is familiar, this working together to remain upwards and not downwards. She's paying him back tenfold.

Altaïr feels the sand brush against his toes before she does, and he stumbles to his knees. But here, he can leverage his long limbs into something like propping himself up whenever the waves deign to relent battering him about. Maria drags him most of the way like a sack of tubers.

Altaïr falls on his side on damp black sand, coughing and wiping seawater from his face. Being without clothing is secondary to being alive, but--well. He covers himself with one hand as he catches his breath. His eyes dart about. There is Maria, in nothing but a tunic--he averts his eyes, it's rude to stare, he doesn't want to disrespect her. There are other people in the distance, and a good amount of detritus--satchels and such.

"Where are we? Do you know?"