Dusty shook his head. Clearly, he didn't possess the same nonchalant attitude towards death.<br/><br/>"Ohh, you are mistaken. Worst ting is to wander as<i> cauchemar</i>. You die alone, no one to see you off proper, and there's always da chance you stick around as a nightmare spirit." Dusty had grown up with the beliefs, surrounded by cajun folklore. Some might consider it a silly superstition, but for many it was a deeply engrained part of their culture. "You ever have a dream where you can't move? You're paralyzed? Dats what it's like to be locked in limbo, on te other side of death." Even through Caelan's jokes, Dusty was steadfastly serious about what he spoke of.<br/><br/>"I cannot always be dere to warn you of your recklessness. You should not joke about death," Dusty chided, watching as the young man got up to replace the beer he had absconded. When he came back in, he mentioned the setting sun, and taking dessert to go. The older man simply shook his head, taking the fresh beer and popping it open in the table edge.<br/><br/>"Not going back tonight," Dusty informed Caelan. "Don't tink you much of a swimmer after one sorry lesson where all you did was try to climb me. I can't tell as much about te river at night." Something he wouldn't usually worry too much about. His rustbucket could take a beating just fine, but he didn't want to risk bumping something and losing Caelan in the darkness. The river hid many things beneath its surface, most of which he could tell by the way the water rippled over the surface, except at night when visibility was low.