The work is not pleasant, but it is not dangerous, nor particularly wearisome, so it is better than other tasks she's gotten herself (and others) into. It's almost a welcome change, from the world defining tasks she'd been dealing with, in Thedas. At least, until her fingers brush against a slug, and she flails around like an entire parade has marched itself over her grave. Still, the moment passes, and she's tying the sack closed when Solas touches her, and gestures.

A quick nod to communicate her assent, and she rises with him. His offered arm is accepted, and she lets him pull her up to his side. The rebreather is popped off, and she greets him with a kiss on the cheek. The air against wet skin is colder feels colder than the water, but Solas is near, and any chill feels distant with him this close to her.

"I hope you aren't regretting letting me drag you here, Solas. I'm quite glad I had you here with me, for this." For anything, really. "Not quite as bad as the Fallow Mire, right?"