With his permission granted, Ayla breathed a sigh of small relief; at least she would not need out herself to the hateful. He called it ignorance, but regardless of its source, the result was the same to the elves on the receiving end of such vitriol, spite, and far-too-frequent violence. 

“Thank you, Captain.” She paused a moment more. “Your Quartermaster,” she began hesitantly. “He identified me an elf on the very first day. He knows of my skill, though none of the identities I shared with you.”

She made apologetic eyes towards Captain Church, hoping she was not condemning the Quartermaster to some punishment; though she feared more what would become of her should the Captain discover she had concealed this fact from him. She quickly scurried to collect the books, carrying them in one of the boxes she had seen prepped for the harvesting venture.

Ayla stepped quickly to the ferry boat and spoke naught a word. She gave friendly and cordial smiles to those she passed whom she had created a positive rapport with. The nerves she carried would appear as nothing more than travel jitters to the rest on board, she hoped. The Captain, however, would know full well what to read between the lines of her subtle body language; she was ashamed, afraid, and acutely aware just how frayed the rope she walked had become.