The goat bleats back at Felor.
As Mordred follows the footprints down to the water, someone comes marching up out of the waves as if ascending from a basement stair. It's a clean-shaven, fit man of about forty or fifty, sandy hair neatly trimmed, wearing brown shorts and a white linen vest. Though his overall presentation is pleasant and tidy, he has a few old scars on his face and a nose that looks like it's been broken more than once.
"Hello!" he says. "Forgive me, I was underwater." He looks up at his hut and waves to the rest of the party. "What brings you here, tiefling?"