"No apologies," he tells her, shaking the hair out of his eyes, and making a lunge for the pole.

He misses, just slightly, as a wave pulls him unexpectedly down with it. Wren can feel his whole body respond to the weight of the water: a moment of seizing panic, and then suddenly complete stillness, calm he only really equates with being on stage, as if nothing could make more sense. He wants to go take a breath, but he's not anxious for it, and when he blinks his eyes open, he sees clearly. He surfaces between waves and uses the crest of the next one to get himself to the pier, swinging himself up gracefully.

"That's more like it." Now that he's out of the water, he can tell how cold it is, and he looks over at Abigail with concern for getting her inside. "Easy, just like climbing a fence," he says with a small smirk. This is a lot more like climbing the scaffolding at shows, an idiotic risk he's profoundly grateful he's taken so many times it's no longer intimidating.

A small crowd is gathering, and he reaches to give her a boost toward the nearest person's hands.