Here comes the sun, it's alright.
Gren stepped off the wooden planks of the path and into the sand. It was a comfortable feeling to walk on land that shifted as he moved across it, even though he hadn’t stepped foot in sand in years. The sun was partially hidden by cloud cover, and the breeze blowing in off the water dropped the temperature a degree or two, but not by much. He estimated that it was about twenty degrees, utterly, regularly pleasant. It was taking a little time, but he was adjusting to the normalcy of this world, which wasn’t as abnormal so much as it corresponded with a different set of people and occupations than he was used to on Callisto.

He trudged out to a halfway point between the dune behind him and the endless water in front of him and placed the pen and paper he’d been carrying down in the sand. Then he rolled up his sleeves and pant legs, and settled down into a cross legged position, enjoying the heat transfer from the ground to his limbs. The warmth worked through him and undid a lot of the tension that had been building in him since his arrival.

Lighting a cigarette, he stared out at the water, forgetting the paper for now. He enjoyed the feel of the smoke in his lungs and thought about what Cesare had said about how cold the ocean here was. He was tempted to try it, just because. But that would have to be later. For now he was tempted to just sit, collect his thoughts, and watch the mix of newcomers and locals who strayed into his view. Half of him wanted to talk, the other half preferred to remain aloof. He came to the happy median that he’d let the people around him make that decision for him.