A crew member knocking at her door roused Emery from her nap. They almost arrived to Milo Platform and allowed her to prepare to disembark.

“Milo Platform, prepare to anchor!” called out the first mate later.

“‘Prepare to Anchor!’” came the rallying cry. The passengers disembarked, carrying off carts, sacks, and sleeping kids. They marched towards a modest town on a hillside. Emery could see the security lights bordering the town from the deck.

Unsteady legs shuffled a groggy scout down the gangway. As Emery reached the end of the dock, the mud squelching under her shoes, a sharp whistle made her turn around. The Captain and crew lined up along the rails saluting her departure. She returned it, chest tight and lip trembling in a taut smile.

She watched as the lights of the ferry drifted off, sailing for safer harbor. There was no return ferry come to take her home for a long time; with their thighs aching from wading through mud pool after mud pool. All dirty and maybe a little bloody. No Captain to boost her spirits, or Shey to calm her night terrors.

Her work as a Leyotan Scout would take her far, far from here. For how long depended on matters out of her hands.

Chin up, her feet carried her into the Shallows.