Once he's upright, her hands come to rest on his shoulders, and she gives a little squeeze. While she thinks, she gives him another look-over, and for a brief second debates pushing him back into the water because admittedly it was kind of funny. But instead she opts to be benevolent because fish troll or not, it's still a little chilly to be wet and out of the water like this.

"Get out and go put your pants back on, and let's go back to hive where you will be safe." Safe from what she doesn't specify. Drowning? No, more like further humiliation. "We can dry off."

For certain definitions of the phrase. Maybe this overly awkward encounter can be salvaged yet. A terrible plan, an even worse outcome, but there's got to be a way to make it right. Either way, she's already pulling her hands away and procuring her clothes from her sylladex. There never was a real need for a towel, except maybe for her hair, which she wrings out and ties up into a big bundle against her her neck.