She goes still at the steadying touch of his hand on her wrist, looking up at him with wide, afraid eyes. The ship still pitches and yaws, the waves still crash around them, there's something dark and monstrous lurking beneath the churning sea--but she believes him, against all logic and the rushing of her pulse in her ears.

As ordered, she swallows, takes a deep breath, then lets it out again. She's no less afraid, having done that, but the fear doesn't hold the same sway over her, as it did before. "Okay," she says, and while her voice still wavers a little, her grip on the pot does not. "What--um," she starts, looks down at the figurine, and then up at the strange elf again. "What do you need me to do?"