Vette's swimming form was less 'dog paddle' and more 'hey, this chicken has had its head cut off and it's still attempting the breaststroke,' but at least she wasn't actively drowning as she made her way toward Sidon. That was good, right?

It was more than she'd been able to manage even a few months ago, at least.

"I," she announced, somewhere between one bob of her head above the water and the time she wound up under again, "am really," glub, "bad at this!"

But trying!