It was probably just a matter of time before the ball wound up in the water. Greta had assumed (perhaps foolishly) that everyone would take it for granted that one of the adults would be going in to fetch it, though. When Saoirse starts to wade in, instead -- and a few seals pop their heads out of the water -- Greta pales, darting in after the girl.
"Saoirse," she starts, aiming for 'mild exasperation' instead of 'mild panic' or any other tone that would require some explanation. The girl's already soaked to the knees, so there's no saving her trousers, but Greta scoops her up, anyway. A sodden hemline and a wet splotch over her hip are a small price to pay for knowing Saoirse's not going anywhere.
Greta backs out of the surf and gives Saoirse an anxious little once-over. Logically, she knows such a brief foray into the waves wouldn't actually hurt her. But she still feels compelled to say something, to find some reasonable objection to cover up for the less reasonable one that had her hoisting the girl out of the water in the first place. "It's too cold for that. Just let Sam get it, all right?"
no subject
"Saoirse," she starts, aiming for 'mild exasperation' instead of 'mild panic' or any other tone that would require some explanation. The girl's already soaked to the knees, so there's no saving her trousers, but Greta scoops her up, anyway. A sodden hemline and a wet splotch over her hip are a small price to pay for knowing Saoirse's not going anywhere.
Greta backs out of the surf and gives Saoirse an anxious little once-over. Logically, she knows such a brief foray into the waves wouldn't actually hurt her. But she still feels compelled to say something, to find some reasonable objection to cover up for the less reasonable one that had her hoisting the girl out of the water in the first place. "It's too cold for that. Just let Sam get it, all right?"