Well, for starters, yes, they notice. (And Yes, they did...)

You don't actually quite make it back to the Rendezvous point when you run into the other two 'Fire and Maneuver' teams, you are apparently a tad late from struggling back up that slope, and per your orders they have come in search of you.

"Hello:" you pull up their status bars one by one, "Keishara: Quimbiady: Ochyllyss: and Amaranthae, I take it we are late?" You ask them, already knowing the answer.

"Yes, you are, by ten..." Keishara, who is the one with the hair like spun rubies and eyes the color of a flawless emerald and was in the lead, says and then takes a deep sniff. The others follow suit and then either smile or frown, half of them doing each. "Minutes." she finishes grinning, "And now we all know why I think."

"Honestly, it's not like that..." You begin and then pause for a second. "Well, OK, that's part of it but this was a steep slope too-" You elaborate before Quimbiady cuts you off.

"Save it 'Sir', we can all smell the earth on your feet and the dried stream water on your hands, arms, and mouths, not to mention the reek of mixed spent Human semen and Elven girl cum and blood on Filandariel's legs, my only question right now is WHY?" She demands.

"Why WHAT maethril?" Filandariel demands in return.

"Why, maethril," Quimbiady snarls back, reminding her they are technically the same rank even though she is unit leader, "did you pollute yourself with this human's seed?"

"I'm-" Filandariel says, but this time it's HER turn to be cut off, though not by Quimbiady, but Amaranthae, and on her own side!

"Gods above Quimbiady, are you a total backbirth?!? She's FERTILE today, and he's the only MALE other than those GOBLINS we ran into in the whole region, and would you rather she have a child with THEM?!? Or are you one of those racist bitches who think that we are some kind of 'Master Race' who must keep ourselves 'Pure' by only having sex among our own kind?!?" Amaranthae snaps at the other elf, her tirade filled with the fire of holy rage, from which Quimbiady quails in terror.

"Ladies, Ladies, calm-!" you begin but all five of them cut you off this time.

"Stay out of this!" they snap as one, then append a chorus of "... Sir!"'s to it.

You try a different tack. "Goblins? Did someone say something about 'Goblins'?" You query hoping to distract them from the argument about racism and breeding.