Her tumultuous relief was contained behind a gracious bow. The slightest exhale of breath keyed Ayla in to the realization that she had momentarily been holding her apprehension in her lungs. She glanced upward to the ship and smiled peacefully, the shine in her eyes fueled by a dewy surge that she blinked away with a flutter of lashes.

“Wonderful,” she whispered back and began her descent to the ferry. 

Choosing a seat on the edge of the group, Ayla aimed to not interrupt the conversations in progress. Instead, she seated herself with her belongings tucked tidily into her lap and kept her eyes trained on her future. She listened in as this repeat voyager prattled details of previous ventures. The mention of dried flowers as snacks couldn’t be ignored and the elf’s smile cracked open enough to reveal the glint of her teeth. She thought she knew exactly which plants, at least which floral families, the group had collected. 

Though she had not traveled beyond this territory in her life, she had been graced with a modicum of education that afforded her understanding of the flora beyond her usual gathering grounds. Immediately, she began to rifle through her mental catalogue and make shortlists for what she may be able to procure during a landing party on this venture. 

Beyond the ultimate end goal of freedom ahead, Ayla was excited at the prospect of addicting to her repertoire of herbal experience. She knew most of the plants by sight, though she had not always collected some of the rarer and more distant varieties herself; for those, the Blackthornes had imported components to their supply. Even so, the elf had education enough to read the reference texts and had compiled the knowledge needed to do her own scouting once an opportunity presented itself. 

Ayla marveled at the contraptions designed for hoisting what she presumed would serve as a lifeboat to the deck of the main ship. Of course she had seen her own share of mechanisms to ease large-scale projects, but the specific workings of maritime exploits were entirely foreign to her. 

After dropping to the deck with the slightest audible hit of her weight pulled by a gravitational force, the lone traveler did not wander far. She walked along the perimeter of The Silver Wing’s airy space, running her fingers over the weathered wood of the railing at the edge. While she did not have the immediate connection to nature that her ancestors several generations back may have had, she enjoyed the supposition that she could feel the traces of life that once flowed through these felled timbers. 

Without venturing far from the Quartermaster’s sight, should he decide it was time to have her name placed officially on some sort of roster, the elf meandered towards the bow of the ship as far as she was able. She pressed a palm to the foremast and prayed the trees would shade their venture with good fortune, apologizing for their altered circumstances, and promised she would worship their sacrifice. Upon reaching the bow, Ayla turned her face to the sky and breathed deeply the scent of salt, sweat, and adventure. 

In a meditative state, she stood with upturned gaze, reveling in the feeling of the breeze about her shoulders and imagining the heartbeat of the wood beneath her fingers. She rested her hands lightly on the railing, communing with the elements themselves in this christening of her journey to a new, and at the same time old, life.