Ensconced in the lightness that comes from unfettered travel, Ayla awoke to easy breathing and a feeling of airy exuberance. Though she was not waking as early as she did on the first dawn, she still arose before many of the other passengers were stirring from their respite. To the deck she went, to watch the sun and sea christen her morning in gold and cerulean kisses.

Observing what would become a ritual of the travel days, Ayla nibbled her portion of breakfast ration and began to formulate plans to eventual problems she supposed would catch up with her. She knew she had approximately three days before she would be found missing. She hoped there would be another day or two of local searching before the Blackthornes began petitioning vessels for their manifests. If she were incredibly lucky, there would be another day or two before they realized she used a false name. 

Without an understanding of nautical travel, she made a poor attempt to estimate the distance they would have traveled in three days, five days, seven days of sailing. She found she was completely inept at such maths and supposed she would have to find a way to garner more accurate details from among the crew. Perhaps Sabrina would be able to help her understand. She set her plan for the day to culminate in another tête-à-tête with the ship’s cook over post-dinner dish chores; the elf found that experience most rewarding and grounding. The quiet company of another woman was calming and the process of contributing to the ship’s hidden processes made Ayla feel useful in a way she had not experienced before. 

After some meditations, Ayla returned below deck to bind her hair up off her neck entirely. It took some time, but she created a nest of brains done up in buns and bunches at the crown of her head. Careful to keep her ears still concealed within the tendrils, she secured the final look with her thin scarf again, knotted at the nape of her neck and the ends trailing down her back. 

On the main deck, the runaway found herself amid the grouping of passengers receiving notice of an upcoming port-stop. Surrounded by giddy whispers and excitement at the prospect of feeling secure ground again for a time, Ayla felt herself drowning. Her chest tightened and the breath that had come so easily a few hours ago threatened to choke her like smoke. 

As the crowd dispersed, eagerly discussing what they would do with their brief shore leave, Ayla nearly staggered as her vision blurred from the weight of her concerns swarming her mind. She retreated within herself and sought shelter beneath a railing. She knew there were steps to take to prepare for this snag in her plans, but she could not yet bring herself to bear the burden of it all. 

[i]Breathe,[/i] she told herself. [i]Just breathe[/i]. A fitful meditation attempt followed, proving to be more difficult than ever a commune with herself had been before.