Greta scoots forward somewhat awkwardly - it's not easy to crawl in a dress, but it's not worth getting to her feet for such a short journey - then settles herself beside Iman and looks out over the water, absently brushing sand off her skirts. It's a pity all their dreams can't be this nice (though, to be fair, she's yet to have a particularly bad one unless you count the first, which she doesn't remember so clearly).

"No ribbons," she agrees, leaning back against her hands and pointedly ignoring Angus's heavy, put-upon sigh.