At the promise, Wyatt inclines his head and leans back in the hard wood of the bench; it creaks slightly under his weight. Paul's hair seems impossibly golden in the bright sunlight, inviting enough that he can't help but reach out and run the fingers of one hand through it.

"I'm...not good with lakes. Thought I was, but turns out I really don't like them," he says, making a slight face at the memory of having to walk across the drawbridge to the Northern Island.

"But there's always the Sanctuary pool..."