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"You already drink quite enough ouzo, beloved," came his partner's serene reply. "Besides, you must set an example for the little darlings and seeing Daddy drunk would be a terrible thing." Cressida drew her bared knees up and crossed her arms over them, chin ducked as she watched Leon attend Quixana. She had already set up various buckets, shovels, and sand molds for the child's review off to one side.

Quixana sat still as stone, eyelids half-closed as he absorbed the sunshine and the sunscreen patiently. When Leon's hand hit his shoulder, he suddenly squirmed and burst into giggles. His tail whipped in reaction, swatting Leon mercilessly. Cressida joined in with her own giggles. "I think he's ticklish."

"No cigarettes, either." Suddenly, Cressida's forehead wrinkled. "Do you think they can get cancer from second-hand smoke? Being from books and all. I don't... Courage!"

With a sigh, she uncoiled herself and crawled over to push the lioness cub onto her back and scritch her belly. "The picnic is for -later-, alright?" Her eyes wandered to the shoreline and she smiled at the sight of Anemone and Terror playing some sort of game which undoubtedly had numerous, obscure rules to regulate the splashing. Putting her finger to her lips and winking at Courage, Quixana, and Leon, she moved to crawl across the warm sands to the others. Quixana giggled and clapped his hands over his mouth. Courage, still on her back, arched her head back to look at him curiously. He nodded. Then he squirmed out of Leon's grip and reached up to put his hands over his father's mouth as well.

Suddenly, Cressida dove, reaching outwards to catch Annie about the sides and lifting her triumphantly. "Gotcha!"

Unfortunately, Quixana was not the only one in the family who was ticklish and Terror's assault to Cressida's bare toes was rewarded with a gratifying scream of laughter. Her mother's mouth open and, as it were, present, Anemone took advantage and neatly pushed the seaweed in with a delighted burble. Cressida's violet eyes went huge as she did her best to a) not gag and b) not drop the child in her arms. The effort resulted in Annie thrown over Cressida's slim shoulder while Cressida used her free hand to try and extract the foul plantlife.

Quixana's hand closed around Leon's ponytail and yanked hard in his excitement over the show. Courage rolled to her feet and bounded towards the surf, play-growling and batting at Terror.

A little further down the beach, the play was considerably less exhausting but no less entertaining. Hands both big and small sculpted wet sand into turrets, walls, and spiraling towers decorated with seashells and clumps of ocean debris. There was no mistaking the end result: it was a sand castle, as marvelous and crooked as any sand castle could aspire to be. Its builders crafted it with care and humor, drawing stick figures onto its walls, planting "gardens" of drying green muck and working seashells into giant, flailing letters all around the walls spelling out "Sunset Castle."

The castle lacked only one thing, the true mark of a great castle, the most essential piece of architecture a sand castle could have. Glancing between the sand castle and the distant lapping of the ocean waves, Third tried to work out how best to add the moat.

They had taken up a position on the beach almost at the dunes due to Aelinye's dislike of the sea spray. Five minutes in the salty water and she wanted no more, just to be warm and dry and hidden under the shade. What she did like were the sea shells, and within minutes had found more than she could carry. The shells rested in a small pile next to her on the beach towel. She fingered them absently, eyes drooping with the need to take an afternoon nap.

Beside her, Trion Bartholomew lay reading, paperback splayed in one hand. Third knew enough of French to translate the title: "The Death of Little Flower," by Stefan Briard. The illustration on the cover was, predictably, a gothic-styled flower motif. Trion seemed engrossed in the book, but Third knew he was keeping as much an eye on Third and Aelinye as he was the words on the page.

The only one besides Third who seemed not to have given up on the sand castle idea was Constant. As loyal to Third as her name suggested, the wolflike daemon was all to eager to resume work. Her red fur was coated with a layer of sand. little bits flying off in all directions as she wagged her tail excitedly. There were going to dig the moat now, right?

Third looked over at the water once more. He reached down and piicked up the blue pail, still heavy with damp sand.

"Be careful," said Trion, not looking up. Third smiled. Trion trusted him a lot more than the other adults did, and treated him accordingly.

"We will be," promised Third, noting that Aelinye was now thoroughly asleep. It was a good time to take care of the moat. She would sleep for half an hour at least, and Trion would stay with her. Summoning Constant with a thought, Third and his daemon headed off down towards the water.

Third was actually surprised -- his eyes widened and he half-dropped the pail. Beyond that, he stared at Anemone with the sort of half-blank expression of someone recently lost in thought who needed a moment for the brain to reengage with reality.

His daemon, on the other hand, needed no such moment and leaped, landing directly between Anemone and Third in a giant splash of water and sea foam and energy, Either Constant was rising to defend her bonded, or initiating a giant game of splashing.

Third raised an arm to protect his eyes from a splash directed at his face, finally seeming to wake up from whatever daydream he had been in. "What--"

He found himself standing at the edge of a water battle of some sort, the combatants being Constant, a little girl with fins but no clothes on, and flashes of a green thing Third knew to be a daemon without bothering to actually figure out what it was. He knew because Constant knew, which was also how he also knew they were in no actual danger.

Third stood there while the splashing continued for a moment. Then he took his pail, dunked it into the water, and heaved it up with all the strength he could muster. The water went sloshing over Constant's head towards Anemone and Terror.

? was Constant's response, not quite a verbalization but a very real question. In her (admittedly) limited experience she had never come across a language barrier of mental communication before.

Somehow, without even the words, Third seemed to understand Annie better than Constant did Terror. Third gingerly picked up the fish between his fingers. "Thank you." He thought a moment about something to give her in return. He had nothing on him except his swim trunks, and from the looks of it she was not interested in them for any reason. The only thing he did have was the pail.

It might mean trouble for the moat construction efforts, but Third held it out to Anemone.