Angus lets Aqil get within an inch of his nose before darting his tongue out obnoxiously, landing a glancing blow on the crow's feet. Greta huffs once, caught between amusement and disapproval, and says, "Behave yourself."

"Oh, hush," Angus replies, wriggling into a more comfortable position. "We're fine."

Greta rolls her eyes, but soon lapses back into humming as she focuses on Iman's hair. It really isn't the least bit complicated, just four loose little braids running back from her forehead and temple and meeting in the back, twisted together to make up for a lack of any kind of ties (which she noticed very belatedly, ah well). But it seems secure enough to withstand the breeze. Greta lets out a satisfied little hum as she gives her friend's hair a settling fluff, then pats her shoulder. "All done. That should keep it out of your face, at least."