Elayra’s brows rose when Ghent said a farewell, but remained for a short, awkward moment.
Drust gave a stiff nod, his head jerking slightly toward the door in encouragement for him to leave.
She watched Ghent go, her stare hard, before he closed the door, leaving her and Drust in complete darkness. Elayra hastily placed her milkshake on the floor, the cup nearly toppling over, and summoned another lick of flame.
A small sense of relief settled over her when the world’s magic again met her willingly, and the soft, golden light of a flame ignited above her palm at her whispered command. She blew on it gently, and the flame fluttered away, its shape morphing and pulsating slightly as it moved, floating in the air near her.
The two of them finished what was left of their meal in silence, the flame flickering in a dance that made shadows lengthen and shrink with its rhythm. The silence seemed to stretch on, Elayra’s objections about letting Ghent leave mulling and stewing until, with most of their food finished, she could remain silent no longer.
“You do realize that you let our best chance of killing the Sorceress walk out the door, right?” Elayra grumbled, using her straw to play with what little remained of her melting milk shake. She jabbed at the substance as if it was the cause of all their problems.
Drust looked to her, his withering stare icier than the drinks Ghent had graciously brought them. “Would you have had me hold him prisoner?” His voice matched his gaze. He tossed his empty box of fries into the paper bag. “Dragged him with us? Unwilling? Unprepared?”
“I’d have you do whatever’s necessary!” Elayra put her own trash into the paper bag none too gently, her fingers slightly greasy from the fries. “He has a family here. A mother who cares for him,” she snapped with a twinge of jealousy. “He seems rather fickle as it is; he’s already changed his mind once about coming with us. You sent him home, Drust. How do you think the reminder of what he’d be leaving will affect that?”
“Elayra,” Drust hissed with a dark warning, his head twitching. But she did not notice, her mind consumed by suppressed worry, disappointment, and even fear that burst forth in an angered rant.
Elayra crumpled the bag, then stood with an irritated shake of her head. “I’d bet my bow we won’t see him come sunrise.” She strode over to their packs and tossed the paper bag down near their stuff, the flame following her. “Then what’re we going to do? I hope you have a backup plan for that! Because even that,” she gestured to the flame, which flared as the magic picked up on her emotions and desire for emphasis, “is at best impossible for either of us in Wonderland.”
“Elayra,” Drust growled again, enunciating each syllable of her name as his head twitched dangerously once more. He turned to face her, crouched, the lines at the corner of his eyes pulsating familiarly as his chin lowered.
“Without his magic,” she continued, kneeling in front of her pack, his warning going unheeded and the words that had built up refusing to stop now that they had begun to flow, “which we don’t even know he can use, I might add,” she snorted as she moved the dagger from the bag and opened her pack, “we may as well just hand ourselves over to that wannabe queen and put our heads on the chopping block for her!”
There was a quiet shuffle behind her. She had just enough time to grab her dagger before Drust gripped her shoulder firmly, and forced her to turn so her back was against the garage wall beside their packs.
Elayra used the movement to unsheathe her dagger, and placed the tip of the blade lightly, yet firmly against his stomach as he pressed his forearm across her chest, keeping her back. With his knees on either side of her legs to pin them down despite her efforts at freeing them, he leaned in toward her so his face was inches from hers, a snarl pulling at his pale lips. The Curse's black-veined red in his irises fought aggressively with his pupils, making it impossible to gauge which would claim victory.
“To think I was worried you actually had faith in me,” he spat, his voice somewhere between a gravely growl and an airy hiss.
“Faith has nothing to do with it!” She knew she was walking on ice, one slip and she would plunge into the icy depths beneath, but her tongue itched to be heard. The flame flickered and dimmed with her concentration split between it and Drust, threatening to go out. “We haven’t exactly given him much incentive to come back with us, have we? We knew him hardly ten minutes, and you two went at it! You can’t try to break someone and expect there to not be consequences for—”
Drust slid his arm from her chest to her neck, cutting her words off. “I’ve spent fourteen years,” he snarled through clenched teeth, “thinking about tonight’s consequences, girl.” His neck made a cracking sound as it twitched, and Elayra grip tightened on her dagger. “Don’t you dare doubt that.” He pressed against her as hard as he could without completely blocking her airway.
“Drust,” she breathed, reaching up with her free hand and grasping his arm. “You know I didn’t mean—”
“Silence!” he snapped, adding a pulse of extra pressure behind his hold to cut her off again. He paid no attention as Elayra pressed the point of her dagger a bit harder into him in a warning to back off.
She swallowed as she realized the Curse had consumed all but a pinprick of his pupils, both pulsating with the effort of gaining chaotic control.
“Should he abandon us,” he continued, a gravely undertone toying in his voice, “I guarantee it would be for more than my actions alone, you audacious ingrate.” He gave another pressured pulse as he said the last.
Elayra dug her nails into his arm and tried to pull it away, saving her dagger as a last resort.
Her efforts paused when, with a snarl, Drust closed his eyes and turned his head away from her. Though her grip on her dagger did not slacken, her expression was cautiously hopeful that what remained of her guardian would push the Curse back.
They stayed like that for a short second that felt like minutes. At last, with visible effort, Drust forced himself to release her, and stood. He turned his back to her and pinched the bridge of his nose, his chest heaving slightly.
“You’ve clearly recovered enough to mouth off,” he said between his teeth as Elayra jumped to her feet. “Collect your sword.” He went to retrieve his katana, and slid it from its sheath without looking to her. “If you have the strength for such impudence, you have plenty for a sparring round.”
Elayra inhaled softly. “But shouldn’t we—”
“Wait. For. Me. Outside.” Drust swinging his katana to point to the door silenced her and made her step away and raise her dagger.
Not daring to further disobey, she dipped her head in a half nod, quickly and silently collected her sword, belt, and dagger’s sheath, and headed to the door. She glanced back as Drust summoned his own flame. The magic seemed to hesitate, as if fearful of him, but a darker, almost sickly red flame burst to life beside him as he knelt at his pack.
The effects of the Curse on him seemed to be growing slowly more unstable than usual. And he knew magic. Not much as far as Elayra knew, sure, but enough, especially in a world where the Wonderlanders could use it.
With that thought on her mind and silently scolding herself, she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and stepped out into the night.

"You found Wonderland?!"
"Shh! You'll wake up Mom!" Ghent put a hand over Henry's mouth until the redhead made a muffled promise to lower his voice.
That was the one good thing about telling Henry. The younger of the two didn't even question Ghent's sanity -- he believed him.
Able to speak once more, Henry eyed the pack near the door. "So that's why you packed your clothes..."
Ghent raised an eyebrow. "Did you look through my backpack?"
Henry glanced down to his exposed feet, guilty as charged. "I only peeked..."
"Seriously?" Ghent didn't remember Henry being this nosy. "Should we start calling you Mrs. Saxon or what?"
"Sorry." Henry's thoughts were back to Wonderland. After all these years, his cousin's stories were true. Not an ounce of evidence had been presented to him, but he trusted Ghent wholeheartedly. Henry looked up to him as a little brother would, and his wild imagination was often fueled by Ghent's former claims of Wonderland.
"How did you find it, Ghent? Did you chase the white rabbit? Did he have a pocket watch?"
Ghent scoffed. "I would've preferred that, actually," he mumbled, his thoughts falling back to the two from Wonderland. "No, there wasn't a rabbit, but I met the two I used to have dreams about."
Henry remembered both. "The man and the little girl with blonde hair?"
"Yeah. She's not so little anymore, though. She's close to my age." Ghent turned so he was on his back again. Telling Henry was a big relief; at least this way someone would know of his whereabouts. "And before you ask, no. She isn't Alice."
Henry clamped his mouth shut. That had been his next question. "So...who is she, then? Is she your family?"
Ghent shook his head. "I'm not related to either of them. Drust is a knight, Elayra is a princess." Before Henry could bombard him with more questions, Ghent attempted to elaborate.
"It's a long story. When we were little, Drust was helping us escape Wonderland. I ended up here, and Elayra should have too...but she didn't." Saying this aloud made Ghent wonder if part of Elayra's bitterness towards him was actually resentment. If this was the case, he couldn't blame her. It was rather sad -- and odd -- to think that his mother may have adopted two children on that fated day.
"Why did you have to escape? Was it the Queen of Hearts?" Henry was basing his questions off of the Disney movie, but he was coming pretty close to the truth.
"Something like that." Ghent played it off as if this was no longer something to concern themselves with. "They asked for my help to fix up Wonderland a bit...you know, restore it to its former glory." For the sake of his cousin, he downplayed the seriousness of the trip. "I agreed to go. Guess I owe them that much."

"Wow..." The explanation good enough for Henry. This was a lot to think about. "I hope you can find them, Ghent."

"Who?"

"Your family."

"Oh, yeah...me too."

"You'll come back though, won't you?" At the thought of losing his cousin, Henry's excitement tampered down. "We're your family too."
Ouch. "Of course I will." Ghent wasn't sure who he needed to convince more: himself or Henry. "I'll never forget that."
Henry seemed doubtful. "Promise?"
Ghent nodded. "Promise."
Henry bit his bottom lip, brows furrowed. "Pinkie swear?"
Ghent reached to turn off the lamp. "Come on, Henry. Only kids pinkie swear."
Henry looked so sorrowful that Ghent sighed in defeat and held out his hand. "Fine."
After they pinkie swore on it, Ghent shut off the light. For a while, all was quiet, though it didn't matter. Both boys were wide awake, all thoughts on Wonderland.
"I wish I could go." Henry broke the silence with a wistful sigh at the idea of venturing to such a magical place. "How long will it take you to fix Wonderland?"
"They didn't say." Ghent had wondered this earlier; he knew they couldn't have had a solid answer for that, so he hadn't bothered to ask. "Hopefully not too long."
"I hope not...we were going to have so much fun this summer, Ghent. Aunt Elise promised to take us to the petting zoo and..."
"The petting zoo?" Ghent interrupted him, his expression of disgust hidden by the darkness. "You live on a farm. Why the heck would you want to pet a bunch of smelly animals when you already have some?"
Henry shrugged as best he could while lying down. "It's different when they belong to someone else. You don't have to take care of them, you just have to pet them. It's fun."
Ghent turned on his side, an attempt to get comfortable. "Well, I'll try to make it back in time. If not, go without me." Please. "While I'm gone...I'd appreciate it if you kept an eye out for Mom. You know how she worries. Dad, too. Just promise them I'll be fine, okay?" This was a lot to burden his cousin with. Unfortunately, Ghent saw no alternative. "Can you do that for me?"
Henry gave a solid nod. "You don't have to worry, Ghent. I'll take care of them."
Good old Henry. "I really appreciate it. While I'm gone, the room's yours. I've got about $170 leftover from rescuing William. Buy yourself some new Lego's so you can finish that spaceship of yours." Ghent felt oddly charitable, especially because the money was of no use to him in Wonderland.
"Really?" Henry couldn't believe the amount of loot he'd received. "Gee...thanks!"
Ghent wondered if Henry accepted gifts in any other way. This was the third 'gee thanks' he'd received that day. "Don't mention it. Now, get some sleep. I gotta be up by dawn."
Henry closed his eyes. "What time does dawn start?"
Ghent glanced at the clock, taken aback by the time. 2:30. "Um...good question."

Wishing she had thought to change out of her dress, more worn and tattered than it had been earlier that day, Elayra hooked her sword belt around her waist, her quiver of arrows still inside by her pack. After looking over her surroundings, searching the shadows for evidence of any enemies lurking about, she drew her sword.
The long, curved blade slid from the sheath, the gentle sound a whispered reassurance from an old friend in this world filled with unfamiliar uncertainties. She ran a hand down the flat of the blade, ever careful of its double edges, her touch almost tender. The blade glinted a majestic blue in the light of the small flame still hovering near her.
Removing her hand, she swung it a couple times, stepping expertly with each swing, testing how much strength she had recovered from filling her stomach and taking what could not have been more than an hour’s nap.
Though she had regained enough strength to stand and brandish the weapon, a dull ache still lurked in her muscles. But as much as the impending match was punishment for her for mouthing off, she knew it would help sate some of the Curse’s effects. At least, if it would act the same here as it did in Wonderland. If it would help Drust, she would give it no less than everything she had.
Elayra took a deep breath, and her hand tightened on the saber’s hilt. She loathed the volatility of it all, from the Curse to Ghent, and everything that fell in between.
She shook her head as frustration heated her chest. She could not afford to dwell on that. Now more than ever, she needed to have enough level-headedness for the both of them. If that was even possible.
The door to the shack-of-a-shed creaked open behind her.
She spun around, her sword swinging with her, ready to draw it in to block any possible attack.
Drust, his katana strapped to his back, stepped back and raised a hand, a tight-fitting gauntlet protecting his arm from fist to the crook of his elbow. Elayra’s sword clanged to a stop against the gauntlet, the metal of the armored glove a dirtied shade of white.
“Not here,” he snapped, his red flame extinguishing as he pushed her sword out of the way. He jerked his head toward the side of the shed, then turned before she could see how much of him was ruled by him, vs. the Curse.
Wiping any emotion besides arrogant determination from her face, she followed Drust silently to the back of the shed.
The scent of an impending rain rode a gentle, cool breeze as he led them to a space not far behind their shelter. A few trees spotted the area, providing a few obstacles to work around, hopefully far enough from the road for the sound of battle to not carry to anyone who happened to pass by.
Drust gestured for her to stop, then took a few more lengthy strides from her.
“Fists or blades?” she asked as he turned to her. She glanced to his gauntleted hands, unsure which would be worse.
Something between a sneer and a smirk pulled at his lips. “Brighten your flame.”
Elayra’s eyes narrowed fractionally at his lack of answer. That’s never good.
“Elayra!” he hissed harshly at her short delay.
She concentrated on the small lick of fire and the sensation of magic surrounding it, giving it the order to grow.
The flame twisted, then grew larger and brighter.
“You were once rather talented in magic, for a toddler of human birth.” Drust drew his katana without looking from Elayra. The magical firelight reached him, glittering in his eyes; though the colors of the Curse were still more prominent than she would like, it had, at least, diminished slightly. “Many of her subordinates can see in the dark.”
“I’ve only known that for how long now?” she said with a slight roll of her eyes.
Drust snarled at her, the Curse’s colors pulsating, and she sobered, snapping her mouth shut and taking a defensive stance, her left side angled away from him.
“Don’t let your light go out,” he ordered sharply. He muttered something under his breath.
Elayra's body tensed, ready for some kind of magical attack, but instead, a pale green light flashed over his eyes, then vanished.
Her brows furrowed for a moment in curiosity, before, without warning, he lunged at her, his sword’s reach far greater than hers. She slid to the side, his sword slicing through the air, and her flame dimmed slightly as her full attention turned from it.
Drust angled both his sword and body to swipe his weapon sideways at her, but Elayra jumped back and moved her sword to swat it off course, just managing to step around a tree trunk.
Instead of returning the attack, she stepped back, hoping to lead him to where the trees grew closer together, where the length of his sword could potentially be turned into a disadvantage in close quarters.
Drust smirked, and came at her again, bringing his sword down toward her with both hands.
Elayra, one leg back so her body dipped down, raised her saber horizontally above her, its flat side ready to take the blow and a palm bracing it near its tip milliseconds before Drust’s katana clanged hard against it.
She gritted her teeth at the jarring impact, her flame sputtering without her complete control and dwindling further. She spared it only a glance, trying to stabilize it as a short-lived spark fluttered toward the ground, but Drust gave her little more time than that.
Using the rebound of his blade hitting hers, with impeccable speed, he arced the blade down to the side then up toward her stomach, the metal glinting maliciously in the remaining light.
Hiding her fear behind a snarl, Elayra barely managed to jump back and knock his sword away with hers just enough to avoid more than adding another tear to her dress.
He readied to swing again, but they were now deep enough into the thicker part of the skimpy woods to prevent him from gaining full momentum without losing his sword to a tree. Apparently realizing this, he offered her a smirk on the verge of approval.
Instead, mid swing, he drew his sword back, and, with a twitch of his neck, hurled it forward.
Elayra, her eyes widening, yelped and jumped aside. Her back hit a tree, and the flame sent off a shower of sparks with her surprise, the light shrinking even further.
“Drust!” she squeaked out as his katana embedded deep into a tree trunk behind where she had stood. “You’re not supposed to actually kill—”
She gasped and jumped away as he swung at her with a gauntleted fist. The metal plates protecting his fingers swatted the fabric of her garment just below her rib cage. She looked to his face, but the scant light that remained was not enough to make out his eyes. Not that she needed it to guess how far the Curse had consumed them.
“Drust!” She raised her sword and hand beside her in a show of surrender. “I think we should call it good for to—“
Drust aimed another punch at her jaw.
Elayra ducked beneath it, and swiped her sword at his stomach, hoping to make him back off. The tip of her blade sliced through the fabric of his shirt, but before she could tell if it did any damage beyond that, she shouted in pain as his fist collided with her, sending a burst of pain through her side.
What remained of her flame sizzled out as she stumbled away. In the complete darkness of this part of the park, she slipped on a patch of grass and leaves still wet from the earlier rain. She turned mid fall to land on her back, raising her sword protectively in front of her, listening for Drust.
“You’ve lost your light, little blind mouse,” he taunted from off to her left, the sickeningly familiar gravely tone once more in his voice.
I wasn’t provoking it! her mind screamed in fearful confusion.
“Drust, listen to me,” she began, trying to sound as bold and fierce as she could as she hurried to her feet. “You need to go back. I-I think this place is effecting the Curse in you.” Trying to avert her focus to her other senses to locate him, she stood still, her sword held in front of her. “I’ll wait for—”
She gasped and stumbled forward when another fist slammed into her back. She swung around with her sword, and the clang of the blade being blocked by one of his gauntlets rang through the woods.
With her eyes adjusted as much to the dark as they could get, turning the brighter areas of the world into blurry lumps of gray and black, she heard and felt the vibrations of Drust sliding his gauntlet over the blade to grip the sword.
He pulled it and her forward, trying to disarm her, but she refused to let go. She brought her leg up in a swift kick. With a sense of satisfaction, she felt it hit its mark, making Drust grunt, but the sensation was short-lived.
Before she could retract her leg, he gripped her ankle and forced her to turn, one hand still gripping her sword. Kicking her knees out from beneath her, he quickly adjusted his grip to her wrist and pulled her arm painfully straight behind her, his other hand pressed against the back of her head.
She inhaled sharply as he twisted her wrist, and she dropped her sword. Gritting her teeth, the metal of his gauntlets cold against her skin, she moved as quickly as possible. She ducked forward, ignoring the pain the action sent through her shoulder, twisted her body and arm so she had better leverage, gripped his wrist as well as possible, and pulled at him as hard as she could.
Drust snarled as, caught off-guard, he stumbled forward and slipped on the same slick area as she had.
Before his weight toppled onto her, she kicked out in the dark, hitting her unseen mark, then heard him land instead beside her. She swiftly drew her dagger, and tried to straddle him. Her palm landed on one of his shoulders, and she placed the blade of her dagger to where she thought his neck was.
“Drust! Snap out of it!” she begged.
He gave another snarl, before one hand gripped her dagger-wielding wrist, and the other pressed against her back to force her into him. He rolled over so he was on top of her, pinning her other arm between them, and twisted her hand so the wavy blade of her dagger rested at her throat near her ear, her chest heaving from a mix of exertion and fear.
Magic! There’s magic here! she reminded herself. She reached out to it mentally, straining to think of a command to give it that could help her.
“Inexus!” she breathed, her eyes closed, hoping it was the correct command.
With a surge of power, Drust was thrown from her, the blade of her dagger sliding over her jawbone and creating a stinging line.
The thick thud of Drust hitting a tree was followed by a heavy groan as Elayra struggled back to her feet and summoned another lick of flame. The golden light illuminated the forest, revealing Drust slumped, apparently unconscious, at the base of a tree.
With drops of sticky red seeping from the cut on her jaw line, she retrieved her sword before slowly approaching Drust, unsure if he was really out, or tricking her. Her dagger lay on the ground just outside his relaxed palm, his chest rising and falling evenly.
Tentatively, Elayra tapped her foot against his, then hurried back a step. When he did not stir, she tried again, to the same effect.
She rested a hand on the side of her neck, staring at him with a mix of concern, fear, and indecision.
She needed to tie him up, to keep him from attacking if unconsciousness was not enough to bring him back to her. With a shaky hand, she collected her dagger, her eyes never leaving his face as she neared enough to take it.
Taking a deep breath, she wiped away a streak of blood she felt dripping down her chin, then sprinted back toward the shed, hoping she could find something to tie him up with and return before he awoke.

Despite being bold and cocky by day, Ghent was a nervous wreck by night.
With his mind working overtime, it didn't take long for him to become paranoid. What if a shadowmire followed him? Did the sorceress know where he was? Maybe coming home had been a bad idea. Every thought morphed into several more, each worry had ten others tacked onto it.
I can't believe I agreed to this.
Now close to 3:00, Ghent gave up on the idea of sleeping. Henry, believing himself an expert on getting up early, decided that 'dawn' was around 4:30. If that was the case, only an hour and thirty minutes separated Ghent from leaving the apartment for what may have been the last time.
Understandably, the realization was troubling. Ghent told his parents goodnight, not goodbye. They had no idea that they would wake up to find their son gone. After all the couple did to raise him, Ghent was leaving them without so much as a note of explanation. It felt cowardly, and it felt wrong.
Burdened with guilt, Ghent turned on his side, listening to the light, gentle pattern of the rain falling. Pulling an all nighter probably wasn't his greatest idea, but even if he'd wanted to rest, he couldn't. There was too much to think about.

Additional sounds of the city filtered through the old building with ease. Every time a car sped past, Ghent could have sworn Henry twitched or moved in his sleep. The poor kid wasn't used to the city yet.
Thinking back to the escaped shadowmire, Ghent dared to move from the safety of his blankets in order to lock the window. The action wouldn't have been enough to ensure their safety -- the horrible creatures practically appeared from nothing -- but it made him feel better.
Involuntarily, Ghent shivered at the memory of the monsters before chastising himself for such cowardliness. If he couldn't survive a night in his own room, how could he ever hope to tough out Wonderland?

Running a hand through his hair, Ghent glanced to the clock for the fifteenth time that night.
Time was ticking. Did he tell Henry too much, or not enough? Should he wake him up? Conflicted, Ghent approached the cot, seconds away from waking his cousin before deciding against it. Henry had enough on his plate.
Failing to suppress a yawn, Ghent crawled back into bed, more tired than he realized.
Eventually, sleep won him over, but it didn't last. The sound of a barking dog was enough to startle Ghent awake. Blinking blearily, the world came into view, and so did his room. The sun was rising.
Memories of the Wonderlanders flooding back to him, Ghent practically tripped over his own feet as he scrambled out of bed. If he was late, he'd never hear the end of it. Somehow, he got the feeling his comrades didn't tolerate tardiness.
Throwing on what was closest -- which happened to be a dark red t-shirt and black jeans, Ghent stepped into his sneakers (there was no time to retie the laces), grabbed his backpack, and slipped out of the room.
In the hall, he slowed, listening for any signs of life. To his relief, no one was awake. So far, so good.
Moving slowly, he only stopped to fix the frame on the wall . . .
and then it fell.
"Oh, shoot!"
Ghent clasped a hand over his mouth. How many times had he fixed that photo in the past? Three hundred times? Four? What were the odds of it falling now? Was this a sign? The timing couldn't have been worse.
Kneeling, Ghent retrieved the photograph from the floor. The glass only suffered a small crack.
Giving an aggravated sigh, he stood again to hang the picture back up. To his relief, the frame remained on the nail, but it was crooked. Though it pained him to do so, Ghent had to leave without adjusting it.
Hopefully, the racket hadn't been enough to wake the household.
Taking care not to make a sound, Ghent crept towards the front door, mildly impressed by his own show of stealth. After he unlocked the door, he pulled it open, hesitating in the doorway. This was it.
With one long, solemn look towards the place they'd called home, Ghent turned to leave. Contrary to any doubt Elayra may have had in him, he was on his way to fulfill his promise.

The weather was colder than Ghent anticipated. The sun hadn't graced the city with any amount of warmth yet, but it wasn't enough for him to dig through his backpack for the hoodie he'd packed. Time was of the essence.
Breaking into a run, Ghent kept on the sidewalk until he crossed the road so that he might reach the park.
What if they left? Was he too late? What if he'd dreamed the events of yesterday?
Reaching up, Ghent pressed near his rib cage, finding that the pressure hurt. Definitely not a dream. He hadn't imagined his fight with Drust.
By the time Ghent reached the shack, he was out of breath and disheveled in appearance. Sneakers soaked, he started to approach the shelter, doing his best to appear alert in case Drust was staked out again.
"Um...hello? Guys? I'm here...as we agreed."

Elayra sat, cross-legged, on the damp earth in front of Drust. With his hands tied behind has back with rope she had found hanging in the shed, he had barely even stirred as she bound him to the tree. Though she had stopped most of the bleeding from the cut at her jawbone, her side ached, and she was sure the metal of his gauntlets had left more than just a nasty bruise akin to the one she felt forming on her back.
A light drizzle had begun to trickle from the sky, pattering gently against the foliage above. A small flame she had summoned flickered and sputtered as the wetness tried to snuff it out, but Elayra was careful to give it just enough focus to keep it burning. Every little sound in the woods drew her attention, making her raise her sword, ready to spring to her feet.
At long last, Drust groaned and slowly opened his eyes. He tugged once at the binds, then, realizing why he could not move his hands, a snarl twisted his face.
“Drust!” Elayra stood, her sword brandished in front of her in case the weathered ropes did not hold.
His head snapped up to look to her. His gaze quickly took in her defensive stance and apprehensive stare, before settling on the dried red she had missed just below the facial wound. To her relief, the Curse had receded to its normal appearance, and, slowly, Drust's body relaxed.
He hung his head and looked back at the tree. “Are you okay?” he grumbled, an air of self-contempt in his voice. His neck twitched slightly.
“I’m fine, Drust,” she reassured quickly. She hesitated for a moment, but then sheathed her sword as a sign of trust.
The sound of the sword sliding home made him look back to her before she knelt down a couple feet in front of him.
“But you…” she took a breath and swallowed, hating the thought of him leaving, but fearing what would happen if he stayed. “You need to go back. I don’t know what’s going on, but the Curse is too unstable here. Wait for us in Wonderland. I’ll stay to meet Ghent when he arrives.”
Drust looked at her for a long moment, then opened his mouth with a look of protest, before closing it again and placing his chin to his chest. He remained like that for a couple minutes, the rain growing slowly heavier.
Finally, he gave a stiff nod. “I’ll gather my pack. Then meet you both in the Hill.”
Elayra released a nervous breath she had not realized she held. If he had argued, to try to convince him otherwise could have ended disastrously.
“At least,” he looked back to her, and his brows rose irritably, “if you untie me.”
Elayra gave him a half, apologetic shrug, then cut the ropes with her dagger. “Your sword’s in a tree.” She nodded in the direction where the katana had all but ran one of the trees through.
She stood alongside Drust. She moved to follow him as he headed to retrieve his sword, but he held out a hand for her to stop.
“Wait here.” He turned slightly to look at her. “I won’t take long. I can find the portal myself.” He turned back around and continued toward his sword. “Be safe, Elayra.”
“Be prepared for anything.”
Drust paused with a smirk. “And always expect the worst.” With that, he muttered something under his breath, then left the small circle of light her flame provided.
She stared after Drust even once the night had consumed him. Slowly, she sheathed her dagger, then, taking a deep, shaky breath, leaned against a tree. She gasped and grimaced when the bark pressed against the bruise on her back, and quickly pushed away.
The thought of being left alone in this foreign world, waiting for something she doubted would happen, made a pit form in her stomach.
After what she hoped was long enough, she headed back to the shack. Once inside, she went to her pack, wanting to change out of the dress, but she stopped.
Sitting on top of her pack was the wooden first aid box.


After a few hours of fitful sleep disturbed by every little sound, she gave up on sleep and opted for or a bit of target practice, taking out her worries and frustrations on the trees behind the shack. Incapable of telling the time, the cloud cover promising a late-waking sun, she could only hope Ghent would be on time, if he showed up.
Though it took her a couple tries, she succeeded in creating a magical shield to use as an umbrella, the neglected magic of the world a bit too eager for use. Beneath its dry safety, she quickly lost track of time, firing one arrow after the other before retrieving them from her designated targets, glad for the distraction.
She was only on her second quiver when she heard someone approaching above the patter of the rain.
With her hair tied up with a woven bit of twine, in the dim light that just illuminated the area, she loosed the arrow she had drawn back. The head sunk into the wood of a tree just above a line of others with a loud, satisfying thock. Swiftly, she nocked another and turned as the crunch of footsteps and huff of heavy breathing grew nearer.
She blinked in surprise when, despite all odds, Ghent called out from the front. She slowly released the arrow, preventing it from firing. “I’m around back!”
Removing her arrow from the bow, she went to pry the others from the tree. Careful to not aggravate what remained of her newest battle wounds, she made short work of freeing the weapons, then turned to see if Ghent had decided to join her here before striding toward the side of the shack.

Ghent wasn't sure what would have been worse: if his traveling companions were there, or if they'd left without him. As he approached their proclaimed clubhouse, he overheard Elayra's voice. Any chance of returning home was gone, but at least he had the satisfaction of knowing he hadn't imagined the events of yesterday.
Fixing his sneaker so that his heel wasn't exposed, Ghent rounded the side of the shack, two steps away from colliding into the blonde. The taller of the two stopped himself in time, observing her face from where he stood.
"You too, huh?" Ghent got the feeling she hadn't slept much, if at all.
"Man...I don't think I slept a wink last night! Not that I was worried, of course..." His attention was diverted when took notice of the cut near her jaw. That was new.
"Hey, what happened to you? Did the shadowmire come back?" As a precaution, Ghent glanced behind his shoulder before looking back to her. No shadowmires. No Drust, either.
"And where's Drusty? Wait..." A cut so precise couldn't have come from a shadowmire; they were clawed, not equipt with weaponry. This wound had come from a blade. As the realization dawned upon him, Ghent's eyes widened.
"You guys got into a fight, didn't you?" Ghent accused, shocked Drust would have gone so far. Sure, the guy was unstable, but this was a bit extreme. Without giving Elayra a chance to reply, Ghent peered around the shack to make certain that their guardian wasn't listening in. Not a body in sight.
"He headed back to Wonderland, didn't he?" Ghent's was skilled in jumping to conclusions.
"I can't believe he abandoned you here..." Turning, he faced Elayra again, sighing as if he truly sympathized with her current situation. No wonder she hadn't gotten any sleep.
"Look, everything's gonna be okay." Ghent started to reassure her, his expression apologetic when he took note that the poor girl was even equipt with a bow in case the madman should return.
"I'll help you. Try not to panic." Elayra showed absolutely no signs of panic -- or fear -- but Ghent figured she was shaken after the incident he'd invented in his mind.
"You hurt anywhere else?"

Elayra quickly stepped back when she nearly collided with Ghent, a hand moving instinctively to the dagger hanging beside her quiver.
She gave a sigh of relief that it was only him. Placing the end of her bow on the ground, she looked him over as he did the same of her.
Elayra’s change of clothes, consisting of a green knee-length dress, a brown overcoat laced at the front and sporting slit puff sleeves at the shoulders, a pair of pants, and tall boots pulled over them, remained mostly dry thanks to the barrier above her. Mud caked the souls of her shoes, and a few dark patches splotched her well-worn garments from windblown rain.
Ghent, on the other hand was drenched, looking like something a kid had tried to drown before taking a walk in the park. But he could have been worse. Such as not even there.
“You actually came.” Elayra smirked. As much as she refused to admit it, having him there was a welcomed relief. After everything, Ghent had come. Maybe, just maybe, that bode well for them. “I’m impressed.”
She looked at him questioningly, wondering what she, “too,” was, before he elaborated.
“Right,” she drew out the word playfully, looking up slightly to meet his gaze, “sure you weren’t.”
Elayra’s smirk turned into a scowl when he asked about what had happened. She opened her mouth to answer, but he went on to his next question before she could speak.
“You guys got into a fight, didn’t you?”
Again, she tried to respond with, “It doesn’t matter,” but her mouth snapped shut and she looked at him in surprise at his accurate assumption. But then, he rambled on. Her fists clenched at the concept of Drust “abandoning” her, accompanied by Ghent’s sigh and reassurances that kept her from responding.
“You hurt anywhere—”
“For the love of Absolem!” In a swift movement, Elayra gripped one of her arrows by its damp blue fletching, drew it, and shifted the sharp tip to point threateningly at Ghent’s chest. “Stop talking!” She gave an irate huff and placed the tip against his shirt. “Drust didn’t abandon me. This world and the Curse don’t mix well, so he’s waiting on the Wonderland side of the portal. For both our safety. Now, if that satisfies you,” she bit, quickly replacing the arrow in her quiver, “we’re wasting time.”
She brushed by him, her expression sour, and headed to the front of the storage shed. She shoved the door open, leaned her bow near a window, and reached inside to where she had placed her pack, ready to go. Forgetting about the bruise on her back, she slung the pack over her shoulders, and gasped when it thumped painfully against the spot she could not reach to tend to.
Trying to adjust the pack so it would not be bothersome, she turned and walked carefully toward the road, stopping once Ghent was in her sight.
“The portal’s in an alleyway between Frank’s Book Barn and Hava Java,” she informed him, annoyance at him and at the ache from the bruise in her voice.

Impressed. Ghent had a feeling this wasn't a word Elayra used very often. At least he'd done something right. "Yeah, I came. Mainly to prove you wrong." This was said in jest, though it was partially true.
Things went downhill after that. The cut sparked all sorts of theories and Ghent hadn't wasted any time bombarding her with questions. Too much had been said, so much that he only shut up once an arrow was pointed at his chest.
Startled, Ghent clamped his mouth shut and put his hands up, quick to surrender. At her mercy, he allowed Elayra to speak, and speak she did. The blonde made short work of his wild presumptions.
"Oh." There wasn't much he could say, though there was a hint of disappointment in the response. Ghent didn't wish his comrades to hurt one another, he merely wanted to be right. With the arrow returned to its rightful place, he summoned the courage to speak.
"You don't have to be so touchy, you know. I was only trying to help." This was the second time he'd insisted that his interference was for the good of all involved. Why couldn't she see that he had her best interest at heart?

Cold, wet, and defeated Ghent trudged along after Elayra, eyeing the magical rain guard while she collected her things. As tempting as it was to ask how she'd conjured the shield, Ghent kept quiet. The gasp hadn't gone unnoticed by him; he knew Elayra was hurt, perhaps even more so than yesterday. Now was not the time for magic lessons.
After the directions were given, Ghent started to lead the way towards The Book Barn. The silence was heavy between them, though no doubt appreciated by the girl.
"I know you're gonna refuse," Ghent's eyes were on the path, the words directed towards her. "But I'd feel like a jerk if I didn't offer to carry that bag of yours."

Elayra watched Ghent as he took the lead. Though she was sure she could have remembered—or at least figured out—where the two places were, she was glad for someone more sure-footed in the matter, and even more glad for the momentary silence that fell between them.
With him in front of her, Elayra walking just to his side to be capable of seeing the road ahead, her eyes strayed to him, wondering and thinking of the magic-less life he was about to leave behind. Her focus settled once more on his rather dreary physical state. Magic-less. It was one of the many things that had haunted her while trying to sleep; what if Ghent really could not use magic, here or in Wonderland?
She jumped slightly and turned toward part of the dwindling trees as something rustled in the bushes, a hand going to the sword at her belt, but whatever had caused the disturbance made no further appearance.
Her attention turned again to Ghent when he spoke.
She snorted. “If you know the answer, then why waste your breath? Worry about your pack, I’ll worry about mine.” All the same, she readjusted it again, scowling as it rubbed against the bruise, but too proud to let someone else carry it.
She glanced up to the barrier—a sheet of what looked like displaced, shimmering air splattered with raindrops—to the dark, cloud-covered sky, trying to guess by the lightness of the gray blanket whether or not the sun was rising behind it, then to Ghent.
Elayra remained ever diligent, her eyes flicking from one shadow to the next. Her gaze paused on a pavilion off to the side, just outside the reach of one of the streetlights.
She transferred her bow from the left hand to the right. “We’re making a short stop.” She gripped Ghent’s wrist and pulled him toward the pavilion. She had to know if he could use magic. Or, at the very least, feel it. After all, everything was riding on that assumption.
Should he not resist, Elayra stopped just inside the pavilion where the concrete remained dry. Releasing Ghent, she placed a few feet between them, giving the picnic tables crowded around them a wary glance, checking for any signs of danger.
Satisfied, she turned back to Ghent, leaned her bow against one of the tables, and crossed her arms. “Close your eyes.”

"Can't fault me for trying." Ghent shrugged, unfazed by the refusal. For the time being, he gave up on trying to help her. Elayra was undoubtedly used to much worse when it came to injury, and Ghent didn't want to risk riling her any more than necessary. She'd already pulled an arrow on him, he didn't want to find out what would happen next.
Despite very little sleep, Ghent felt completely awake and alert. Unlike Elayra, he was lazy in the fact that he didn't bother to keep a lookout for foes. Elayra was diligent enough for the both of them, and well equipped to boot.
As he contemplated asking more about the dangers of Wonderland, Ghent felt Elayra grab his wrist. Startled, he wondered if she'd spotted something, though she answered him before he might ask. They were taking a short stop of some kind, one that went in the opposite direction of the Book Barn.
"Why?" Ghent followed after the blonde, bewildered by the sudden detour. "You just said we were wasting time!"
The pavilion provided very little clues as to what Elaya's purpose was; the only benefit from the structure was to shield them from the rain, which was only useful for one of them.
"Hey, I think I carved my name into one of these." Ghent observed a table in passing, hoping to find evidence of his once being there. Preoccupied with the hunt for graffiti, Ghent overheard the small, soft thud of the bow being set down. Confused, he turned to Elayra as she instructed him to close his eyes.
"What for?" Ghent was incredulous and unwilling to comply. "Is this a test or something?"
Had this been Drust, Ghent may have been more compelled to follow orders, but he was reluctant to agree with Elayra without some sort of explanation as to what was going on. She was not his superior, why should he listen?

With the gentle pattering of the rain echoing around them and off the slightly vaulted roof, Elayra’s eyes narrowed when Ghent questioned her order. She gave something between a growl and a sigh.
“Basically?” she replied curtly. “Yep.” She glanced up to the shield, now unneeded beneath the protection of the pavilion.
Looking from it, she let her mental hold over it and the magic drop. Without her will to command the magic to take form, the shield burst into a glittering, dusty film that vanished in the span of a blink.
Elayra uncrossed her arms and rested her left hand leisurely on the hilt of her sword, her intense gaze returning to Ghent.
“You’re Hatter Madrail’s son. The only ones remaining of the Vinifcium--a race of powerful sorcerers and fighters,” she elaborated with an irritated air, trying to answer an inevitable question before he could ask it to save time. “In theory,” she spat the detested word, “you’ve inherited their connection to magic. And that’s what we need. But you didn’t even believe in magic until yesterday!” She snorted, throwing a hand in the air exasperatedly and again wondering what kind of world taught that there was no such thing as magic.
“So.” She took a threatening step toward Ghent and crossed her arms once more over her chest. “Mouth and eyes closed. We’re going to see if you get along with the magic here.”

"Hatter's my old man. I know." Ghent grumbled, leaning against the table nearest to him. The fact that he was related to Hatter was something he'd been reminded of several times, but he wasn't all too pleased about it. So far, he'd only felt the pressure of expectations he had no idea if he was capable of meeting. Why should he be compared to Hatter if he'd no recollection of the man? It wasn't as if he'd been taught magic, he'd only just learned about it.
Though Ghent didn't fancy the idea of having to prove himself so early on, he didn't want to back down from the challenge. Elayra made conjuring fire seem simple enough, and she'd made the rain-shield vanish without a single word. At least this way he wouldn't have Drust there to witness his first attempt at sorcery.
"Believe in it? How could I have believed in it? It's never been proven to exist!" Ghent had a feeling Elayra's opinion of him would not change unless he got the magic to work. Though he'd tried to tell himself that he didn't care what she thought, he did care. Proving himself was important if he wished to earn any amount of respect.
With an aggravated sigh, Ghent closed his eyes and unintentionally mimicked Elayra by folding his own arms across his chest. "To quote you, we're wasting time. Lets get this over with."

Elayra snorted. “Fine by me,” she snapped.
She took a breath, trying to calm her impatience and worries. With Ghent’s eyes closed, she tried to think back to the first of the few, more official lessons in magic Drust had given her, and of the various bits and pieces she had picked up in between.
“Magic’s all around us, it just exists on a plane all its own, so most people can’t see it. But a lot of us can feel it, if we try. If we reach out to it first. Once you’ve found it once, it’ll be easier to find it when you need it. So.” She uncrossed her arms and leaned back against one of the benches. “Clear your head, then imagine the energy of magic flowing around us. Once you can feel it, command it. For now, use focus words. The one for a basic shield is tuito. It’s a good one for a beginner.”
She stared at him intently, for the first time that morning not paying her surroundings much attention. She took a slight step away in case he managed to mispronounce the command, her eyes never leaving him, fearing the worst, but hoping, despite her better judgment, for the best.

"How can I imagine something I've never seen?" Ghent grimaced, tense in both mind and body. This sounded like a bunch of New Age nonsense to him, and he felt just a touch ridiculous standing in the middle of the pavilion with his eyes closed.
Focus. Ghent inwardly chastised himself, exhaling once in an attempt to calm down. Somehow, he had to feel the energy he could hardly imagine.
Empty your mind.
Try as he might, Ghent couldn't feel much of anything; he wasn't sure how the magic would feel, should the energy be there. All he could "feel" was the cold and dampness of his clothes, no thanks to the unforgiving weather.
This isn't working. Nothing's there. Admitting defeat was one thing, admitting defeat to Elayra? Unthinkable. Keep trying.
Brows knit, Ghent made one last attempt to focus. He needed to forget the pattern of rain, he had to stop worrying about failure, tune out Elayra's voice...
After what felt a lifetime, Ghent felt the smallest hint of change in the air. The magic may have revealed itself, or he'd tricked himself into believing. Either way, he wanted to seize the moment before it was gone.
Tuito.
Ghent froze up. He'd read Harry Potter in the back of the Book Barn. Pronouncing a spell incorrectly could prove disastrous. This did nothing to help his already rattled nerves.
"T-Tuteao!" Ghent shot his hand forward as any good wizard should have, though he kept his eyes squeezed shut in fear of a disaster he feared would follow.

Elayra scowled and crossed her arms tightly again at his complaint. “Shut up and concentrate, for starters. It’s a type of energy. Think about the shield I had if you need a more concrete visual,” she suggested as Ghent exhaled, her foot tapping lightly against the ground.
She fell silent, watching Ghent. Only the patter of the rain and the rush of a couple cars on the main road filled the morning silence for a moment. Elayra held her breath, not daring to hope he was having any luck. She blinked and uncrossed her arms as she had an idea; if he had difficulties feeling it directly in its plane, perhaps having an active bit of magic in theirs would help him.
With a chill in the air, the first thing that came to mind was the flame. She raised her hand, palm toward the ceiling, and muttered the focus word for it as quietly as she could, the word lost in the whispers of the rain as she tried to avoid breaking his concentration. A small flame burst to life above her palm, and danced about excitedly without Elayra’s mental order.
The flame burned for scarcely a second before Ghent thrust his hand out and nervously mispronounced the focus word.
Elayra sighed heavily and let her hold on the flame drop, expecting nothing to happen with the mispronunciation. But the sound cut off in surprise when the world’s over-eager magic formed a ball of opalescent energy in his palm that would send an excited, untamed tingle over Ghent’s skin.
Her eyes widened when the energy, not fully guided by Ghent, sucked slightly into itself. She dove over the table closest to her, sliding over its top as the energy burst forward in a series of bolts in every direction in front of Ghent, putting him in no danger. She ducked down beneath the table a millisecond before a buzzing stream of the energy shot over her.
The bolts collided with any surface they could, bursting into a faint mist on contact with the concrete and tables and leaving scorch marks in their wake, some sizzling out into the rain until they found something to strike.
Once all the bolts had shot off and the energy died away, Elayra cautiously poked her head up from beneath the table, and her gray gaze locked on Ghent.
Slowly, a grin spread over Elayra’s face. Though it had ended rather disastrously, he had done it. Ghent had accessed magic. Finally, at least something had gone right. Well, sort of.

As soon as the word left his mouth, Ghent felt a pang of regret. He knew darn well that he'd mispronounced the spell. Either nothing would happen, or all heck would break loose. The later of the two happened almost immediately.
There was an odd, indescribable tingling that moved from his hand to his body. The suddenness of the sensation was enough for Ghent to open his eyes, and from there he got a good look at his very first spell.
"Whoa!" The bolts of energy shot out in every direction, each leaving a permanent reminder of their swift but hazardous existence.
Understandably, Ghent's mind was in a frenzy. The fact that he'd actually gotten the magic to work rendered him speechless, but then he remembered Elayra. She was right in the line of fire.
"H-hey! Look out!" The warning would've been too late, but thankfully Elayra was quicker on her feet then Ghent was with his words.
After the last bolt vanished, Ghent slowly lowered his hand, unable to tear his eyes away from the newest markings on the tables. For a while, he stared like a deer in headlights, unable to believe what he'd witnessed.
"What the heck was that?!" Ghent spoke in a hushed tone, afraid to speak in fear of what he may conjure next. "Oh man...that definitely wasn't a shield!"
Using real magic would have excited most teenagers, but Ghent could hardly see how this was any reason to celebrate. Sure, he'd somehow gotten the magic to work, but he'd messed up. Elayra had every reason to be mad him; he'd mispronounced the spell and may have gotten her hurt. Or worse. If the bolt was enough to mark the concrete, Ghent didn't want to know what it may have done to human flesh.
"Hey, you alright? Sorry, I..." Wait. Was Elayra grinning? This was the first time Ghent had seen her with an expression other than annoyance or anger towards him. Ghent squinted to be sure. Nope. She was grinning, alright. The show of emotion probably wasn't going to last long, but he couldn't help but smile too. If he'd gotten even an ounce of her approval, he must have done something right.
"I dunno what's more surprising..." Ghent rounded the table, tracing his finger over one of the many bolt marks. "The fact that I used magic, or the fact that you're actually smiling for once."

Elayra looked Ghent over, making sure he was unscathed as he gawked at the black marks the magic had left. For a short moment, she thought he may have been frozen in place, but then he spoke.
“That,” Elayra answered Ghent’s quiet question as she came to a full stand, her expression unchanging, “was apparently what happens when people neglect a world’s magic for too long. It’s more excitable, even when you don't command it right.”
Her brows rose and her smile faltered when Ghent squinted at her. Had he hurt himself? Lost some of his vision in the aftermath of the spell-gone-wrong? But then he smiled, and she did not take him as someone who would be happy about going partially blind.
She snorted once he finished speaking, but something going right for once had lightened her mood enough for her grin to turn into a condescending smirk instead of a scowl. Not bothering to go around the picnic table, she stepped nimbly onto the seat, and climbed over the table to the other side.
She hopped down to the concrete, now trying to think of the last time anything had warranted a true smile. She shrugged, bushing the rather dismal thought aside. “That you used magic, of course. I mean, at least you’re not completely useless,” her smirk widened, and she looked approvingly at a deep, smoldering indentation in the table she had hid behind. She nodded to it. “I’d call that impressive, considering it was supposed to make a shield.”
Her attention snapped to her bow, her expression turning to a worried frown. “I swear, though,” she stepped to and snatched the weapon up, running a hand down its limbs as she inspected it, “if you’ve damaged this…” Her finger paused on a new black mark in the wood. She brought it closer to her face, scratched at it, then nodded, deeming it nothing more than a superficial mark.
“Consider yourself lucky.” She twirled the bow slightly, and held it beside her. She raised her other hand, palm toward the ceiling, and muttered the focus word as she swept her hand slightly to the side, further aiding in directing the magic. Another shield shimmered into existence above her, only this time it was wide enough for two people to walk comfortably beneath.
“We going, or what?” She jerked her head toward the rain-drenched streets, and headed out into the morning downpour. “By the way,” she looked to Ghent, waiting impatiently, if necessary, for him to follow, “what is a ‘java,’ anyway?”

"Useless? I do have qualities aside from magic, you know." Ghent slipped his backpack off of his shoulders, taking this chance to retrieve the dark gray hoodie he'd packed. On the back, there was a large, faded emblem of a skull, hardly visible after so much wear. No use risking a cold the day of venturing into Wonderland.
"I can be stealthy, I'm quick on my feet, and -- I know I don't look it -- but I'm strong, too. Bet I could pick up you and Drust without breaking a sweat." Ghent figured he'd get away with these claims; he was almost certain Elayra wouldn't want him to prove it.
"Plus, I'm handling all of this pretty darn well. If you pulled someone off the street and told them everything you've told me...they'd either think you were crazy, or they'd have a mental breakdown. The way I see it, you lucked out," he started to put the hoodie on, words muffled until he found where to put his arms and head. "You guys need stability," he put emphasis on the word as if were the master of the meaning. "Someone with a good head on their shoulders. I'm the perfect member for your little team."
With the world visible once again, Ghent saw one big difference. Elayra's smirk had vanished, replaced with a troubled frown.
“If you’ve damaged this…”
Uh oh. "Oh, come on...cut me some slack! It's not actually broken, is it?"
Ghent peered over her shoulder, surveying the bow for himself. The mark was impossible to miss, but thankfully Elayra didn't seem overly concerned about the cosmetics of the bow, only the functionally.
"Guess I should work on my aim," he laughed nervously, understanding that he'd avoided two deadly encounters. Hitting Elayra may have killed her, while hitting her bow may have resulted in his death.
Ghent hadn't heard the word used to summon the rain shield, but he wasn't sure he wanted to try casting a spell so soon after the bolts-shooting-everywhere incident. Using a hand to pull up his hood, he was well prepared to face the rain, though the shimmer of the shield caught his eye. To his surprise, the shield was about twice the size as before. Ghent couldn't tell if this was a friendly gesture or not, so he hung back a few paces until Elayra announced it was time to leave.
"Uh...right! Coming." Distracted by the shield, Ghent tripped over one of the tables, regaining his footing just in time to fall into step alongside of her. "I think some of the magic moved the tables around." Ghent would rather give a lame excuse rather than to give no excuse at all. He had just started to get on Elayra's good side, he didn't want to lose his progress by being a klutz.
“What is a ‘java,’ anyway?”
Elayra's question offered a chance to change the subject, plus it was easy to answer.
"Java's just a fancy way to say coffee. It's an overpriced drink that girls your age go crazy over." While he talked, Ghent busied himself with readjusting the left strap of his backpack. "It's alright, I guess...it's either too bitter, or sickeningly sweet."
Curious as to how she'd known about java, Ghent studied her face, wondering who had taught her to read in the first place. Drust didn't seem like he had the patience to teach reading as well as magic and combat.
"Why? You want some?"

Elayra rolled her eyes at Ghent’s claims of his abilities, none of which he had demonstrated thus far, and laughed at the concept of him adding a sense of “stability.”
Wonderland’s going to eat him alive, she thought with a snort.
She frowned and gave a displeased shake of her head when, despite his earlier claims, he tripped over one of the legs of a table.
“You forgot to add ‘poised’ to your list,” she taunted, her smirk returning.
She gave yet another roll of her eyes at Ghent’s excuse for tripping.
“Pretty sure they’re in the same places,” she said condescendingly as, at last, he joined her, and the two of them headed back out to the street. With the shield above them, only a few stray raindrops splattered against them, most blown by the gentle breeze that occasionally wove its way through the park.
When he answered her question, she nodded in recognition of coffee. “It’s not the easiest thing to find anymore, but we have coffee in Wonderland. It even has a similar description. Don't make it quite right, and it can pack one heck of a punch.”
Elayra returned his stare with an irate, questioning sideways look, her brows twitching upward.
“Why? You want some?”
She snorted. “No, you featherless dodo. Like I said, the portal’s by a place called ‘Hava Java.’ I was merely curious.”
Elayra stopped as they reached where the park’s road met a larger street, the shield hovering above them stopping with her. Her back stiffened, and her hand went to the quiver of arrows, ready to pull one out as she glanced down either side of the new, open road, her fingers gently brushing the blue fletching. A car sped by on the opposite side of the street, sending a spray of water up around it from the stream of rainwater flowing beside the curb.
“Which way?” she asked Ghent, looking to him once the car had passed, the driver hidden behind tinted windows.

"Featherless dodo?" Ghent snorted a laugh, amused by her choice of words. He'd been insulted many times throughout his life, but that was a first. "You're something else, you know that? Most girls would accept an offer for coffee in a heartbeat."
Ghent slowed when the shield did, and he took notice when Elayra visibly tensed. Privately, Ghent decided that it may have been for the best that she rejected the notion. A boost of caffeine would have done more harm than good.
"From here, we'll take a left. It's faster, and we can't keep our dear uncle waiting, now can we?" Hands shoved into the front pocket of his hoodie, Ghent barely paid any attention to the car. The vehicle was not recognizable to him, therefore he wasn't worried about knowing the owner.
"So...coffee's hard to come by, huh?" While Elayra's focus was on Wonderland, Ghent's mind was on coffee. The drink wasn't always favored by him, but it sounded appealing on such a cold, damp morning.
"What about tea? My old man's obsessed with it, isn't he?" As ridiculous as it was, Ghent was basing his knowledge off of Hatter by what he'd seen in Disney's adaption of the novel. His memories of Wonderland were vague, and they'd only consisted of Drust and Elayra. For all Ghent knew, Hatter really did throw bizarre tea parties. "I hope he's right in the head. I've got enough crazies to deal with..."
Speak of the devil.
As the two rounded the curb near a small bakery, a middle aged man with amazingly poor posture shuffled down the sidewalk in their very direction. Miles. Instinctively, Ghent faced Elayra in an attempt to hide his face in fear of being recognized.
"On second thought, lets take the scenic route." Ghent wasn't afraid of Miles, but he didn't trust him, either. The man prattled on about events that had never necessarily taken place and he was a master at inventing his own version of the truth. Needless to say, Ghent didn't want the town drunk to be the last one to have spotted him before his disappearance.
"Ey, Ghent!"
Crap! Miles was in his own world half the time, how'd he recognize him from four stores away?
"You just leave this one to me, your highness." Ghent knew the title would bug Elayra, which is precisely why he used it. "I'll handle this."