[ settling against the desk, Caleb looks on as she draws. Copying him again. But soon she moves onto a drawing of her own. A quick learner, that's for sure. If only she could talk. Yet there's something about the quiet—the pen scratching softly on the paper, the rain still pattering on the window—that he finds himself not minding it all that much. Some of the tension from everything that's happened today ebbs, despite his continued uncertainty about current company.

Zarina finishes and turns to him with an expectant look. The drawing's of herself under the waves, with the land and the sun above to the side. Caleb hesitates, then nods. This still doesn't tell him anything new—though it's a start, he supposes. And she seems to like it when he approves of what she does. ]

Did you come here on purpose? [ he pauses, then shakes his head and with a wave of his hand, dismisses the motel room. ] Not—here, you understand. Onto land. Or were you tryin' to go somewhere else in the sea before the storm happened?

[ he'd found her washed up on the beach, after all. Though if she did have another destination in mind, she's taking her sweet time leaving. ]