[ The emphasis prompts a laugh, bright and a little startled. He's too surprised to offer much of a retort, though that's an answer in and of itself — the way his eyebrows climb, the way his nerves skip, excited (cheerful) rather than nervous. There's some joke to be made, he's sure, about a reversal in the roles of teacher and student, but he can't quite put his finger on it — or rather, it doesn't seem terribly important, a flourish where one isn't need it.

As their fingers intertwine, Astarion lets out a sigh, lips forming a little moue as the breath whistles out. His grasp on Gale's hand is firm, held aloft just slightly as a means of balance for them both. ]

Quite right, [ he agrees, chancing one look over as he does his best to pick his way through rocks and odd startled fish. ] I don't know that I'd necessarily pick the lake again — on the shore, perhaps, but wading ...

[ He pauses, gaze remaining on their feet until they're finally back upon the grass. Their shoes, still side by side, aren't too far off, and he hands Gale his pair before picking up his own, fingers hooked in the collars rather than attempting to put them on while his feet are still wet. ]

Well, it wasn't so terrible. [ Then, with another squeeze of Gale's hand, ] Let's go back inside, my love.