Tap. Tap. Tap. A gentle rapping appeared out of the stillness. Phyri, eyes closed, murmured a few lines of Poe to herself in her drowsy daze, and mimicked the sound with her fingers against the side of the rowboat for a while before she realised it hadn't been her to start it. Startled, Porphyria sat up and peered over the side, watching the oar move of its own accord with a bemused furrow of her brow.

She fished it out, scanning her surroundings - the lake was empty - and squinting towards the bank, trying to figure out who had enchanted the oar. She should be thanking them, probably, only she didn't feel the gratitude long.

Because she had glanced down, and there was water in the bloody boat. Porphyria stared at it a while calmly, and then patted at her sides as if to draw out her wand. "Shit," she said, when she remembered she didn't have it on her. "Shit." She glanced over at the bank, trying to calculate how long it would take her to get there, rowing. Better sink trying than sitting here like a stranded idiot, though. Nor had she ever been inclined to shout for help, thank you very much. Phyri lurched forwards and tugged off her shoes and socks, trying to stuff her socks in the hole letting in water. It didn't do a great deal - valiantly, though, she secured the oar and started rowing towards shore as the whole bottom of the boat began to flood.

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