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Weather the Storm 1x1

Guilt gnawed viciously at Ayla’s heartstrings; it was clear that the captain was doing his utmost to ease her blatant discomfort. It was her fault that he did not know where her true worries lay. Her deception to those aboard who had shown her nothing but kindness was crushing her conscience. She weighed the possibility of outing herself before someone could do it for her. The added burden of having her lies unmasked ceremonially to such well-meaning individuals nearly made her sick.

The fugitive steeled her resolve and nodded in acquiescence.

“I would be honored to have your accompaniment in procuring herbs for the sake of your crew and passengers alike.” She turned to press her hands cordially to Sabrina’s and asked, “In the galley again this evening?”

Indicating that she wished to conclude the conversation with the cook, Ayla turned back to the captain and furrowed her brows slightly before working the resolve to request private audience with him.

“Captain,” she inquired, “Would it be possible to have a word with you in a less public location? I would very much like to discuss the herbal needs and review those books you mentioned. I would not want to worry anyone should they overhear the discussion of medicines and think that there were reason for alarm.”

She felt this was a solid cover to get a more secure conversational spot with Captain Church. She just hoped she could resolve to finish the admissions of her crimes once concealed from prying ears.

Weather the Storm 1x1

After discovering the ship would be making land for official business, Ayla had determined to herself that she would remain in her cabin for the duration of anchoring. She figured that if she disappeared into the ship, she would leave a shorter trail of sightings for which the Blackthorne bloodhounds could follow. As Ayla built the courage to begin discoursing with Sabrina about general seafaring life, with the aim of getting a better grasp of travel speeds but also with genuine curiosity about a lifestyle that was so far from her own understanding, she noted the captain’s appearance from across the deck.

Here it comes, she thought. The Quartermaster spoke to him. He knows.

Putting on a warm smile, Ayla dipped a courteous nod to the man as he approached. His first invitation garnered a surprised doe-eyed expression which quickly shot askew to the nearby cook before returning to the captain himself. His follow-up inquiry smoothed the flood of mixed emotions that had hit her like a sneaker-wave on unsuspecting beachgoers.

“Oh!” she meekly squeaked out. “I — Uh. Well, I would be glad to have the opportunity to collect herbs and medicinal components.” She fidgeted nervously with her hands and failed at fighting the urge to let her eyes run wild in search of an escape route.

“I will be honest, I had planned to stay aboard during port. I am not accustomed to travel and though I might be best limiting my explorations to my destination.” She shuffled her steps side to side and tried a joke, “I think I finally got the handle of walking on the water!”

She pursed her lips a moment and returned to her usual poise. “I cannot pass the opportunity to bolster my supplies for treatments, though.” She tried to remain casual in tone as she warily asked, “How long will we be ashore? What sort of amenities can one expect in this location?”

Weather the Storm 1x1

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.

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

Weather the Storm 1x1

Ayla grinned playfully. “I look forward to hearing the heightened tale in the future.” She patted her hands dry on the flimsy linen of her breeches after shaking them off. Rolling her tunic sleeves back down to the wrist, she added, “I thank you for sharing your truth with me.”

With the cleanup in the kitchen coming to a close, the elf bade the cook a pleasant eve and took her leave. Knowing that the nights rendered the deck off-limits to passengers, she heaved a wistful sigh and found a path back to the women’s cabin. Late arriving, she found her corner had claimed by another. Unperturbed, she found solace in a corner that shared the wall on which the door sat.

Her cloak a blanket and her bundle a pillow, Ayla curled contentedly and full-bellied into peaceful rest. The gentle rocking of the ship lulled her and in her mind she heard the humming of her mother’s lullaby. Sleep came quickly that night. Away from shore, one full day of freedom notched into her memory, Ayla relaxed into an almost immediate pleasant dream.

Weather the Storm 1x1

Ayla listened with rapt attention to the cook’s history. She found it both interesting and magical in its own way. She found it difficult to imagine what it was like to have a dream and work towards achieving it without exceptionally large hurdles in the path.

The elf collected the plate as part of the pantomime and considered the remnant crumbs thoughtfully. Then she smiled and slid the dish to the basin for proper washing and continued drying the already rinsed ones.

When the topic of the Captain arose, Ayla became pensive. Her limited understanding of the man in charge of the ship leaned toward him being a just and fair individual. This notion gave her hope that her safety was further secure aboard The Silver Wing.

“The captain seems a kind man,” Ayla suggested, waiting to be corrected or to have her supposition endorsed. “From what I have seen thus far, his crew appears happy and comfortable under his leadership.”

As Sabrina concluded her tale and fell into a bit of quiet contemplation, Ayla took the torch and lauded the tale with proper commendations.

“That is a very storybook story,” she commented. “Thank you for sharing.” After a moment’s pause, she added, “I hope to have one such narrative myself.”

Weather the Storm 1x1

Ayla found herself catching compliments without the grace she felt was due to her conversationalists. She had not received praise often and therefore found the entire process a bit disarming. In efforts to dodge the niceties that made her uncomfortable, Ayla chuckled quietly and looked to the floor.

“You are too kind by far.” Taking to the proffered seat, the elf busied herself by scraping leftovers from the bowls into one singular receptacle. It was good to busy her hands with a simple chore.

“I am hardly above cleaning a dish or two,” Ayla replied with a mirroring smile, though she still harbored awkward flutters in her belly. “But I understand that this is your domain and I would not want to step on any toes.”

After removing leftovers from the individual dishes, she lined the platters by kind to be batch-able. She made a collection of bowls together and separated them from the glasses and a third pile of flatware.

“I am simply looking for better prospects elsewhere.” Still focused on her task, Ayla spoke as truthfully as she could while being still vague enough to avoid trouble. “In search of adventure, I guess you could say. A new life with fresher air.”

With the plates prepped for cleaning, Ayla found a towel beside the basin. “The boys are quite sweet. It warms my heart to see them living well for themselves. I am sure there is tragedy behind them being at such hard work so young, though they seem to bear it well.” She began to collect damp platters one by one and wipe them of their dew as the two women continued conversation.

“I have not seen many women among the crew. How does one find oneself running a ship kitchen?”

Weather the Storm 1x1

Not observing an abundance of attention in her direction, Ayla began to suspect that the Quartermaster had not spoken freely of her to the Captain yet. Relief caressed her shoulders out of tension and she took to her meal heartily. There was peace in a fulfilling platter beneath the watercolor sky, an escape from life that Ayla had never been privy to. She basked in the warmth of the sun, the coolness of the air, rocking with the waves as if floating on a dream.

She noticed the Quartermaster glance in her direction. She felt conspiratorial yet knew she had been as honest as she could. She raised her glass in reply to him, bowing her head in a reverential tilt to his station. As if repeating the refrain from their discussion earlier in the day, she sent a silent “Thank you” in his direction.

As the meal came to a close, Ayla quickly made herself useful. She collected platters left behind by indifferent passengers and brought them in bundle back to the galley. She presumed there would be a basin and sought out the cook, Sabrina. Eager to make as many good impressions as she could, Ayla inquired as to how she may lighten the load of the chef’s burden.

“A most warming bowl this evening,” she complimented. “May I aid you in putting your workspace back in order?”Rolling up her sleeves to the elbows, Ayla awaited permission before reaching out to muss with any of the items in the space.

Weather the Storm 1x1

Left to her thoughts, Ayla fell into a vortex of concerns and plans. Potential dangers arose in her mind that she attempted to abate with preemptive problem solving. Some of the complications she anticipated would circle back to swallow her more positive thoughts like a snake eating its own tail. She became flustered and distracted.

The poise Ayla had carried herself with thus far cracked for a moment. Caught in the storm of her own emotions, she retreated to the women’s cabin and found her corner from the night before. Given that the day were still active, only a few other passengers remained within the apartment. They paid little mind to the woman who silently sought shelter in the far corner.

Slumped in the stiff embrace of the walls, Ayla pressed herself to find stillness throughout her entire being. She breathed with intention. She reached through every nerve of her body to sense the stable, albeit active, ground supporting her. Though the process took longer than was customary, eventually the refugee found command of her pulse again. Feeling drained and weary, the elf napped for a time. Not fully asleep and not entirely awake, she allowed the cradle of the vessel lull her into a twilight state of consciousness.

Some time later, she emerged again to the salty air feeling refreshed yet wary. At the announcement of the evening meal, Ayla collected her plate and sought space at one of the far ends of the temporary banquet space; she was still not quite ready to mix among the passengers so blatantly as to sit among them at dinner.

Seeking the last space at the far end of one railing, Ayla slipped into her place quietly and lightly. She found herself seated beside a stranger among the passenger list, though across deck from a collection of the higher-ranking crew members. It was logical and expected as far as she was concerned. It did not occur to her that the Quartermaster might not say anything at all to anyone about her.

Her mind wandered, anxiously concerned with how much information had passed from Quartermaster to Captain. She expected her secrets would not be sacred in that regard but felt no ill-will to either party. In keeping smooth operations aboard the ship, Ayla knew that the Captain must be well-informed of any discoveries made by his crew. She supposed that this meal might be her opportunity to evaluate Captain Church’s sentiments on her identity.

Weather the Storm 1x1

Ayla smile against her own roiling emotions. Little indeed, she chuckled. Height aside, she was smaller than most adult humans given the willowy nature of her limbs.

“Evil is impossible to avoid,” she agreed. “Losing oneself to darkness is, though.”

The elf observed the young crew bringing rope for inspection, admiring their hard work in a more causal manner than the Quartermaster doing proper inspection. She admired the pride the young human boy took in perfecting a trade.

“I shall not cause difficulties,” she declared. She was not sure if she should mention the issue of her name. She decided that that if the contract lacked validation by her invented label, it would sway in both directions. The captain could not protect her but also would not have liabilities because of her.

She took in a deep breath and tentatively reached a hand to the Quartermaster’s forearm. Her posture melted so she was eye-to-eye with the man. Without hunching her shoulders, she sank down at the hip on slightly bended knee to peer directly to his face on equal footing.

“Thank you,” she quietly preferred. “For your discretion. For your acceptance.”

Weather the Storm 1x1

“The manifest,” she said. “Those listed on the manifest are designated to their destination by contract.” Piecing together the magic behind such a pact, Ayla wondered how it applied to individuals who lacked, by societal standards, free-will. Her lack of experience with such arrangements spoke to the true isolation of her last many decades.

She was born to a property and upon said property she remained. Any collections or procurements that required a greater distance were brought to her rather than her to them. Even when it came to tending the sick, the estate supplied a separate cottage to house the ill on the grounds where she herself lived. She could not remember a time when she had ventured off the land she resided upon.

“I do not do harm,” she stated with firm resolution. Yet the more she dwelt on the contract, the greater unease she felt at what the specific details were therein involved. Would her false name render her a danger? Was it treasonous to the captain himself to assume a name other than what she had been branded with at birth? That name was no more her own than the one she began using yesterday, so why would the merits of it be greater in society?

She knew why. Because it was Blackthorne given. Again she looked abreast the sea and to the shore.

“Will we be docking anywhere for additional supplies?” Directing the question in a new direction, she began to formulate alternative plans of escape. She could disappear during a hunt, in a port town, or in some similar manner, assuming they anchored sooner than a missive could reach them.