[ Reynir has never met anyone with this particular phobia of open space, of large expanses of water. But there are one or two people in the village - his mother included - who had similar reactions to whatever particular, often not objectively harmful thing set them off. Even if he didn't have that experience, though, it would be all too clear that Carlisle is crumping under the weight of enormous fear right now. Reynir feels guilty for letting this happen, even if he had knowledge to warn him in advance. ]

Carlisle, I'm so sorry to scare you. They can't hurt you. That ocean, the sky - they're harmless. I visit them every night, and nothing bad has ever happened.

[ His voice is thick with emotion, worry and sadness and regret. He doesn't know why these things are sources of terror for Carlisle - if there is a reason - and he can't really imagine it. To him, there is no more restful place than that tranquil expanse of water.

But there's no questioning the way Carlisle is shaking like a leaf from fear, hiding his face and only peering out the tiniest amount. ]

We - can't visit anywhere without getting across. But if you've changed your mind and you want to stay in the garden, I understand.

[ He hopes that if that indeed is the best option, Carlisle's pride won't prevent him from admitting it. But is it really better? The garden had made him so angry and sad and depressed, and the in-between space had made him terrified out of his wits. Which is the greater evil?

Reynir draws in a breath, hesitating, biting his lower lip, then offers: ]

Or. I could lead you across the water. Will it be easier, with your eyes closed, holding my hand or onto my shoulders? I wouldn't leave your side the whole time, and I could tell you once we're across. And I promise you, I wouldn't let any harm come to you.