Dasvek smiled as he watched Ema's boat lurch to a stop, stuck on some unseen barrier. He absolutely knew she'd be cursing up a storm over there, his own boat, the Hungry Rhythm, bobbing up and down in the light surf. He held up a hand to his eyes to shield Syna's rays, as he looked over at the nearby coast. Sand, lots and lots of grass, and some trees, a surprising sight in the never ending plains. He turned and picked up the petchingly heavy anchor and tossed it over the railing. He wasn't going to try and sail around whatever Ema got stuck on. Not that he could. For the most part, he just stopped it or let the wind or tide take it. He still hadn't really caught on to this sailing thing, and was at the mercy of Laviku and Zulrav.
He made his way over to the sail, and stared down at the ropes. He wasn't sure which undid the sails, and which loosened the big staff that held the tarp. Choices choices. He began loosening a rope at random, continuing until all the ropes that held it were undone, and the sail followed another line and disappeared into a cream colored sliver. He turned and bent over and grabbed his drum and set it beneath him. The wind caught the sail once more, buffeting it open, and guiding it back to the boom, pulling it forward, striking the Myrian in the back of the head. He fell almost straight down, face bouncing off the skin of his drum with a resounding Thump before he hit the deck, bodily, just before Emalay looked over at his ship.
Her shook off the blow, feeling a bit woozy, and went to stand up, when a pole fell from the sky and struck him in the head. "What the petch?!? Stop with all the head wounds!" Then he heard the splash from the other side of her boat and sighed. Neither of them were strong swimmers, but he had to check, they weren't in Falyndar anymore. He made to dive off the edge of his ship, and ended up smacking his entire torso against the flat of the water, biting away the pain. His arms flailed with the ferocity of an angry Bonobo, his legs kicking like trees falling into the basin. Water splashed wildly everywhere, and no one could confuse his muscled flailing for graceful, skilled swimming. By the time he made it around Ema's boat, he was exhausted, and saw her flailing just as wildly. Through spouts of water, "You... need... glorp ANCHOR!" He straightened out to a tread and reached up and gripped the railing with his large hands, and slowly pulled his tired body over, dropping to the wood. He saw her anchor a few feet from him, crawled over to it, and tossed it overboard, careful to not throw it at her.
He'd left his spear on his boat, but he always had several knives on him. "Hey, you hungry? Race you!" Then he pointed over at the trees just off the beach, and flailed wildly once more into the water. As he kicked, he noticed that the slapping was like the tapping of his hands against a drumskin. It was all about beat! He started kicking his legs in a simple one two, one two, one two. His arms were still swinging wildly, but at least he felt like he was going faster. When he finally felt sand, he stood up, not even paying any mind to who had won. He was worn out. Swimming was tough work. Myri should train more of them in that, he rarely felt that exercised. Then again, the waters in Falyndar are anything but safe to swim in... He walked over to a tree and slumped against it, catching his breath, "Maybe a rest before we go find a meal?"