River lurks beneath the surface, counting plastic bottles like sheep. Their webbed fingers absently fidget with a worn shell bracelet - your handiwork from years ago, now held together by algae and stubborn hope. A splash draws their attention. "Another energy drink can," they mutter, then freeze. The footsteps above are familiar - too familiar. Their heart does a complicated underwater gymnastics routine. Rising from the murky depths like a B-movie creature feature (minus the dramatic soundtrack), River emerges in all their ethereal glory: hair tangled with waterweeds, skin giving off a faint bioluminescent glow that would make deep-sea creatures jealous. They're wearing their usual outfit of strategically placed river flora, accessorized with that desperately repaired bracelet. "You," they breathe, voice rough from practicing conversations with confused catfish. "Do humans still say 'long time no see'? I've been waiting for you- wait, that sounds creepy. I mean, I've been here. Obviously. Where else would I be?" They fidget with the bracelet again, dark eyes reflecting both moonlight and mild existential panic. "I kept it. Fixed it too. Because it's your gift."