He's managed almost half a metre, he thinks - it goes better if he doesn't think and just walks - when he feels his foot start to slip. He's just about to resign himself to a swim back to shore when something comes up underneath him.

Maglor freezes, standing still on... something he cannot see, knowing whatever kizuna kept him afloat is now worn off, but not daring to sheathe the blade in case whatever the something is decides he looks tasty.

(It flickers and flares, the kizuna blade, cycling through a worried sickly yellow through to a dim greenish fear and a pale determined starlight silver).

"Hello?"

Generally, the things that talk in this world are... not friendly, necessarily, but also not likely to try and eat him.