Margen gave a proud yip at Ghent’s compliment, its electrically fuzzy chest puffing with pride. The fox watched Ghent and Elayra interact, returning Ghent’s stare.
Elayra looked at Ghent quizzically at his reference to Jenga. With a slight shake of her head, she focused back on the pack. She opened one of the smaller pouches at its front and pulled out a small box with a flame shape burned onto its scorched lid. The blueish light of the orbs made the bits of white wood visible between burned patches appear to glow.
She scowled at Ghent and his question about tying up Drust. She glanced to her guardian, who still slumbered peacefully on the lush grass beneath him. At least one of them was getting some sleep. She almost envied him, her eyelids heavy and body begging for rest.
“He should be fine here,” she answered uncertainly. “But I have some rope in…” She trailed off when she noticed Ghent’s work with the wood. “Seriously, Featherhead? Have you never gone camping?”
She abandoned Drust’s pack and stepped to the firepit, interrupting Ghent’s work. She placed the small box on the ground, then quickly spaced out Ghent’s Jenga mess, creating a cross-work of logs with a gap in the center.
With a content snort at Elayra’s intervention, Margen stood and trotted toward the edge of the clearing. He stopped and looked around at the sound of his name. He let out a conflicted whine at Ghent’s request. His ears shifted back and his tail lowered fractionally as he glanced between the woods and Ghent.
The fox suddenly perked up with a bark that sounded like a canine’s version of an “Ah ha!” Margen padded to the large log Ghent had set aside and tapped his nose to its bark.
A wave of electric blue rippled over the wood, then condensed at one end. It glowed for a fraction of a second before blue and white mist burst from the tip, surrounding it in a glittering haze.
Margen gave a satisfied nod and whining snort. He tapped Ghent’s hand with his nose in a farewell, sending a gentle, almost pleasant tingle over the boy’s skin. The fox bowed his head to his paws toward Elayra, then turned and disappeared into the night.
Elayra’s face twisted in a snarl as Ghent finished voicing his concerns. “I trust him more than I trust you!” she growled, too drained to even consider stopping her emotions and words from colliding into a massive ball of frustrated mush. “At least he’s not a frightened, whiny toddler who can’t even stack wood for a fire!”
Drust stirred at her volume, shifting and groaning as the sleeping mist wore off.
Despite her defense of the man, Elayra shut her mouth and flinched away, a hand moving to her sword’s hilt.
“Get the rope from my pack,” she snapped, her words clipped angrily. She spared Ghent little more than a glance. “Think about what you want from it, and it’ll make it easier to find. You do know what rope looks like, right?” she added with a disdainful snort. “Course, braided strands?”

A few minutes in, Ghent leaned back to admire his woodpile. He was satisfied with his work, at least until Elayra chastised him.
“What’s wrong with it?” he demanded, gesturing to the mini tower with both hands. “It's great! Even Margen thinks so,” he claimed, even though the fox made no implication of this.
He sighed, watching as Elayra created spacing between the logs. He moved the top piece half an inch when she was done, just so he would be the last one to touch the pile. She would not get the credit for his masterpiece.
"To answer your question, I have been camping. Plenty of times." He left out the fact that his dad did most of the work. Ghent had been too busy eating their s'mores supplies to pay attention to how a fire was started.
Hearing Margen's bark, Ghent stopped adjusting Elayra's corrections and turned his head to see what their fuzzy companion was up to. He moved closer, fascinated by the fox's work. The lowly log was now a magical club.
"Whoa, sweet!" Ghent liked this a lot better than the dagger Elayra let him borrow. He reached to take the non-glowy end, but Margen tapped his nose to his hand, surprising him. Ghent had avoided contact with the creature in the fear of being shocked, but he didn't feel any pain. He felt a small tingle go through his hand and up his arm, reminding him of the magic that had seemed to welcome him to Wonderland.
"Thanks for everything, Margen." Ghent had just enough time to scratch him behind the ears. He had a bad feeling this was the fox's way of saying goodbye.
His heart sank as his suspicions were confirmed. He watched the blue aura until it faded into the dangers of the dark. There went his only friend in Wonderland.
Ghent didn’t have time to mourn the loss. He turned to glare at Elayra, his fraction of warm feelings toward her snuffed out like a candle’s flame.
"Seriously?! Two seconds ago, you were thanking me!" Ghent began to wish he had run off with Margen. His eyes went wide at the next insult, prompting him to rise to his feet.
The groan from Drust put their argument on hold. Ghent felt weak all over, his heartbeat picking up in speed. The Knight was waking up.
Yanking the pack from his shoulders, Ghent opened the flap and reached half his arm inside. His fingers brushed against something cool, possibly metal, and dozens of other things he didn’t have time to identify.
Silently, he begged the pack to operate. He did his best to concentrate on the rope and not the fact that Drust was probably plotting his revenge.
Out of nowhere, the back of Ghent's hand knocked against something coiled and coarse. He grabbed it, a small sigh of relief passing through his lips. The rope.
"I got it!" he sounded out of breath as he tore the rope from the bag. He grabbed the log from the ground and leaped over the former Jenga tower to get to Elayra, narrowly missing the structure with the heel of his sneaker.
”Quick! Help me roll him over,” Ghent thrust the rope into Elayra's hands, his expression tight with worry. He raised the log halfway, reading the man for signs of being violent. “We'll hogtie him!"

Elayra shot Ghent a murderous glare at his reminder of her thanks. “Shut up and do what I said!” she snapped, her attention shifting between Ghent and Drust. She scowled as she noticed the blue glow from Margen’s lights had dimmed since forming.
As Ghent rooted around in her backpack, she stole a glance to the orbs. As she feared, they looked smaller, the electricity a bit less energetic than before.
“Hurry up, Featherhead!” she muttered, casting another glance toward the small box she had abandoned at the side of the stacked wood.
She released a heavy breath she had not realized she held when Ghent found the rope.
She moved closer to Drust as Ghent rejoined her, shoving the rope at her. She gave a quick, stiff nod to Ghent’s first request. Letting the rope fall to the ground and using her aching arm more as a support, she helped roll Drust over onto his stomach.
The fatigue eating at her muscles made the man feel heavier than she expected. He moaned and shifted at the movement. Elayra swore she saw his eyelids flutter, but it could easily have been a trick of the light.
“Too much time, too much extra rope,” she snapped at Ghent’s suggestion of how to tie up Drust. She swiftly drew her dagger and cut two lengths of rope out of the longer strand. She replaced her weapon and tossed the longer of the two pieces to Ghent. “Get his feet.” She sat on Drust’s back, one knee on either side of the massive man. “Make sure it’s above his boots,” she added hastily.
Even if he messes that up, she thought to herself, pulling both of Drust’s hands behind his back, it’ll still trip him up for a second if we need it to… but we won’t need it to, she tried convincing herself.
She made short work of Drust’s hands. With familiar, practiced movements, she looped the rope around his wrists in an intricate, tight knot. One of his hands reflexively tried to jerk away, nearly pulling her off balance, but she grit her teeth and held it firmly until she finished.
Not wanting to waste the remaining light, she quickly got up from Drust and returned to the firepit.
“Got that, Featherhead?” she asked, sparing Ghent barely a glance as she hastily stuffed dried leaves and smaller twigs in the opening of the wood pile.
She popped the top of the lid open, its hinges squeaking lightly, and let out a low, dismayed growl. Two compartments created the inside of the box, one housing a couple wads of what looked like extra fluffy cotton, and the other empty.
Regardless, she pulled out one of the fluffy white balls, the orbs of light growing ever smaller and casting more shadows over the clearing. Just smaller than your average cotton ball, she cupped it in her hand and took a deep breath, trying to clear her mind and reach out to the magic of the world.
She felt the magic against her subconsciousness, sick and angry, a creature caged within its own domain. It made a pit form in her stomach as it tried to knowledge her, coming in quick weak lashes as it fought against the Curse.
Gaze intent on the cottony ball, she breathed out, “Igniculus!”
She felt the magic try to surge in her palm, only to fall away from her, the focus word not strong enough to break past the Curse’s restrictions. She grit her teeth and tried again, saying the word louder and with more conviction, but it offered no improvement.
She glared at Ghent in the remaining light. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. “Feel like using more magic?” she growled reluctantly, rubbing her thumb against the feathery soft ball of fluff.

Ghent gripped his half of rope tightly, wincing every time the Knight moved.
"He's waking up!" he hissed the obvious, making a loop with the rope while Elayra tied Drust's hands. It should have been simple enough to do, but Ghent was shaking so badly he could barely get a knot started.
Unsurprisingly, Elayra finished first. Ghent expected her to take over for him, but she was returning to their abandoned woodpile.
"You're leaving me?" 'Whiny toddler' was beginning to fit. Fingers numb with cold, Ghent wrapped the rope around and above Drust’s boots and pulled so it was taut. He bit his bottom lip as he worked, silently praying for the man to stay asleep as he tied the rope off in a lopsided, bulky knot.
"Let's see how tough you are now," Ghent muttered, pushing himself up to stand. He kept a wary eye on Drust's slumbering form as he retrieved the piece of wood from the ground. Either Drust was still out of it, or he was playing possum. Shivering at the thought, Ghent turned and hurried to regroup with Elayra.
As he neared her, Ghent overheard the repeated the focus word. He hoped for a spark, but nothing happened. He frowned at his sneakers, knowing what her failure meant. It meant the task fell to him.
“Do I have a choice?” Ghent set the magical log aside, squinting at what he assumed was a cotton ball. He looked to her for an explanation, but most of her face was covered in shadow. They were both being swallowed by the darkness.
“Any way to do this without burning the entire forest down?” Ghent ran a hand through his layered mess of hair, reluctant to conjure the element by the use of magic. He didn't like fire. Like Drust, it was deadly and unpredictable.

“Of course you do, Featherhead,” Elayra snorted. “You could always refuse and let us have to sit in the dark all night. With the moans of the ghosts to keep us company.”
As if a spirit had heard her words, a quiet, muffled moan floated through the clearing. A ghostly form blurred from the clearing’s magic flitted in and out of existence at the edge of the area, its pale body appearing to reflect the dimming blue light and set it aglow.
Elayra tensed, her empty hand clenching around the hilt of her sword.
“Sure. Control the magic,” she answered his second question. Exhaling heavily, she stiffly forced her hand from her sword and reached into the center of the wood pile. She quickly created a small pocket amidst the kindling.
“This,” she held up the small cotton ball between two fingers, “is a CottonTail fire starter. Can't find anything easier to light.” She placed the fire starter in the kindling pocket. “But fire’s the worst thing to start a beginner off on,” she continued darkly, drawing once more on the few lessons in magic Drust had given her. “Igniculus is supposed to summon a small flame, but a spark’s all Drust and I can ever manage even with stronger spells. And that’s when we’re lucky. For just a spark…”
She trailed off, her mouth twisting upward for a moment in thought. She tried to remember the spell for a simple focus word, one beneath even igniculus. She had known it once, but ill-use had faded the memory. Her scowl returned.
“I… can’t remember,” she admitted grudgingly. “You’ll just have to try igniculus.” She sighed, hating the idea of Ghent using fire magic at all with his track record. “Focus on the fire starter, and only the fire starter, and command just a tiny flame from the magic. Hold your hands over the wood if you think it’ll help.”
Drust groaned and shifted. Elayra’s hand went again to her sword.
“Don’t even think about Drust,” she began without taking her eyes from her guardian. “If he wakes up Curse driven, I’ll deal with him while you focus on not burning us all alive.”
Without waiting for Ghent’s response, she stood and took the couple strides to place herself between Ghent and Drust. She did her best to not show the fatigue that made her muscles complain against her movements.
Jaw tight, she drew her sword, the metallic hiss of the blade sliding free a reassuring sound to her. She stuck its tip in the ground and crouched behind it. Her left hand gripped the hilt, ready to pull it free.
“Extinguo puts fires out.” She angled herself to keep Ghent in her peripherals, ready to either spring away from flames or to pacify Drust if he woke up with the Crimson Curse in charge. “Especially magic fires. Practice saying both before you try.”

"I wouldn't call that much of a choice," Ghent grumbled, yelping as he overheard the moan. He lifted the piece of wood over his head, ready to swing at the first thing that moved. The ghost sounded closer than the previous ones, leading him to believe one had managed to slip into the Safe Zone.
After the nonexistent threat passed, Ghent held the log against his chest, knuckles white. He wished Margen was there.
Ghent turned, startled as Elayra admitted she could no longer remember the name. He grimaced at the replacement word, shifting his weight to his other foot. He didn't like where this was going.
How could you forget?! Ghent wanted to scream. He tried to remind himself that Elayra was only human. She couldn't be expected to know and remember everything, no matter how dire the situation was. He closed his eyes and forced himself to remain calm. Panicking wouldn't solve anything.
"Okay. I'll give it a shot." Seeing no other choice, Ghent dragged his feet over to the pile of wood. He crouched in front of the structure, splaying his fingers out over the center pocket. "Igniculous summons the fire, extinguo puts it out," he repeated Elayra's instructions, speaking slowly and clearly. "Igniculous, fire. Extinguo, puts out fire. That's easy enough."
Despite his attempt at a pep talk, his nerves were on edge. He couldn't help himself and cut a glance toward the shadowy figure of Drust.
From what Ghent could tell, the Knight remained on the ground. That was a relief. Ghent faced the woodpile again, shaking his head. He needed to leave Drust to Elayra, no matter how difficult.
Taking a moment to plan, Ghent chewed the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. He wondered if his volume had anything to do with the power of the magic. In the past, his panic lead him to practically shouting each focus word. He decided to try speaking calmly and carefully.
Ghent moved his hands closer to the woodpile, taking in a breath. He focused on what he believed the CottonTail looked like. Small, soft. A glorified cotton ball. It was the only thing he allowed himself to think about.
As he opened his mouth to speak, his throat constricted. He didn't want to cause another disaster, but he also didn't want to sit in the dark. Not to mention, it was cold. Much colder than even an hour before.
"Ig..." Ghent swallowed. He felt the magic answering him, the same excitable, undisciplined pulse he felt when he last reached out to it. He cleared his throat, determined to stay composed. He had to get rid of the magic before it grew unstable.
Scrunching his eyes shut, Ghent spoke hastily, but quietly. "Igniculous!"

Elayra listened closely as Ghent repeated both words, making sure he said each one right. She gave a slight, nearly imperceptible nod when he pronounced them correctly.
She blinked in the ever-fading light. What had once been a bright, electric glow had dimmed to a disorientating blue tint, casting just enough light to make out the vague shapes around her. A shiver ran through her, the chill of the night seeping even into the clearing. Even the Safe Zone could not keep out the weather.
In the partial light, she was certain she saw Drust’s shoulders move, trying to adjust. A gentle groan rose from the Knight, confirming her thought.
Elayra stood and pulled her sword from the ground as Ghent reached toward the woodpile.
When Ghent braved focusing on calling upon the world’s magic, it took longer to reach him than it had in his last panicked haste. It toyed once more around the edges of his senses, like a sound just faint enough to know something was there, watching, just out of sight, before slinking into clear view.
Elayra glanced toward the boy at the sound of his voice, only for him to trail off. She frowned at his hesitation, but forced herself to refocus on her task, not Ghent’s.
The magic flared around Ghent, more irritated than even Elayra at his pause. It pulsed around him, the sensation driving deep into Ghent as if to give him an impatient shove at being kept waiting yet again.
“Igniculous!”
In an instant, the sensation of the magic’s presence intensified, releasing its impatience. It welled in his core, creating an uncomfortable heat. It spread down his outstretched arms, momentarily driving the cold from his body. A burst of flame shot from his palms into the woodpile, its release draining the warmth with it.
The logs of the wood caught as if drenched in too much lighter fluid. They burst into a blazing fire with a startling whoosh. A few sparks sputtered up into the air above as the orbs of blue fizzled out of existence.
Elayra jumped and spun around to face Ghent, ready to cut Drust’s binds if they needed to flee. Instead, she stared in shock at the rutilant flames setting the clearing aglow. They settled down within the confines of the circle of stones, content without the influence of magic to gnaw on the dead tree limbs.
Fabric rustled against fabric as Drust stirred once more.
Elayra spun back to face her guardian, his form now a mix of golden light and shadows. He tried to move his arms, but the rope snagged them, keeping them in place. He froze, his wrists still pulling the rope taught.
“Elayra!” he shouted in a growled, sleepy panic as he pulled at the ropes anew.
“Drust!” Elayra half hopped, half ran the couple necessary steps to put herself in front of him as he managed to raise his upper body. “We’re fine!” Keeping as safe of a distance from him as the small clearing allowed, she crouched before the now kneeling man.
Partially illuminated by the fire, his chest heaved with heavy, angered breaths. A few bits of dirt and grass stuck to his lean face, but did little to counter the menace twisting his pale lips. The black-veined red of his irises pulsed steadily, threatening to consume even his pupils. The lines stretching from the corners of his eyes throbbed in time with the others, spreading dangerously over his skin.
“Drust, listen!” Elayra implored, struggling to keep her anxiety and fatigue from showing. Though not fully consumed by the Curse, Drust was far too close to it for comfort. She cast a quick glance toward Ghent, trying to tell him with her gaze alone to stay quiet. “We’re safe. All of us.”
It took Drust a moment to focus on Elayra. He blinked hard and shook his head, trying to clear the lingering effects of the sleeping mist. He closed his eyes and took a few breaths. The crackle and snapping of the fire chewing on its food filled the clearing.
“You… found a Safe Zone.” His words came in a groggy, tight slur.
Elayra let out a relieved sigh. She practically melted into a kneeling position on the grass; no gravely undertone marred his voice. Slowly, even the dark veins stretching over his alabaster skin shrunk to their normal size and stilled.
Finally, something had gone as she had hoped. Mostly.
“Ghent found a tichari,” she explained, incapable of keeping her relief from her voice.
“Good,” he appraised with a nod. He took another breath and opened his eyes, meeting Elayra’s gaze. He looked her over, concern in his eyes, and his jaw clenched. He glanced down with a heavy sigh, then jerked his head backward, indicating his bindings.
Elayra hesitated. If something aggravated the Curse again, she would not last long against him. As much as she wanted to trust him, the Curse’s instability in him had grown. But leaving him tied up when he appeared to have it under control felt wrong. Besides, if something happened and they needed him...
She eyed him for just a moment in her debate before speaking. “Are you—”
“I’m fine,” he cut her off, his tone cool but even.
“I was going to ask if you’re sure,” she offered a weary, half-hearted smirk, “but that works, too.”
Drust raised an eyebrow, watching as she sheathed her sword. She stood slowly, stepped to Drust’s side, and reached for the rope.
Drust bowed his head and took another deep breath. “Elayra—”
“Yeah,” she interrupted, recognizing the uncharacteristically soft tone and quiet voice. Her volume matched his, her attention focused more on Drust’s bound hands then necessary. “I know.” She hated when he apologized.
She felt his back move with another sigh as she reached to begin untying the knot she had made, wanting to save as much rope as possible. Especially if they ended up needing it again.

Ghent felt everything happening around and within him. The magic warmed the skin underneath his sleeves, the numbness vanishing from his fingers. The whoosh of the fire lighting the CottonTail prompted him to open his eyes, resulting in him scrambling away from the woodpile with a yell. He kept his distance, gulping as the flames lapped at the wood.
The wait was short, but terrible. Ghent tugged on the drawstrings of his hoodie, mentally repeating 'extinguo' in an anxiety induced mantra. He waited for the fire grow out of control, but it didn’t. The fire was contained. Maybe he was getting the hang of this.
“Elayra, check this out!” Ghent looked back for her approval, his excitement blinding him to the fact that she was on guard duty. Or at least she had been. Drust was awake and speaking with her, their words barely audible over the crackling of fire.
Seeing the blonde near the madman, Ghent grabbed the piece of wood from the ground and sprang to his feet. The movement made his middle ache, the pain reminding him of how close he and Elayra had come to dying by Drust’s hands.
“Elayra!” Ghent was about to tell her to get away from the Knight, but her stern look silenced him. His eyes narrowed in disapproval, his jaw set. Although Drust was restrained, Ghent felt Elayra was being careless.
While the two spoke, Ghent listened intently. He hated to admit it, but he could tell Drust was different. He was quiet, possibly even remorseful for his previous actions. It was the least scary Ghent had seen the man.
Folding his arms across his chest, Ghent stuck out his bottom lip in a silent pout after Elayra interrupted Drust's beginnings of an apology. He wanted to hear the man beg for forgiveness.
Apparently, the almost-apology was good enough for Elayra. Ghent tensed as she reached for the rope, her fingers working at the knot. She was going to untie Drust.
“WAIT!” Ghent's two minutes of silence was officially over. Pushing through his exhaustion, he ran forward, determined to stop Drust from being freed.
“What the heck do you think you're doing?!” Ghent gestured to Drust wildly with the piece of wood, his voice cracking midway. “You do realize he tried to kill us, right?” he hissed, whispering as if Drust wouldn’t hear the exchange.
“I mean..." Ghent stole a sideways glance at their captive, feeling conflicted by the sight of him. He didn’t want to keep Drust tied up if he didn’t have to be, but he also didn’t like the idea of being murdered in his sleep.
“Shouldn’t we, I dunno, test him or something?” Ghent suggested, gesturing again with the wood. He almost smacked Drust in the head with it without meaning to. “Make him swear on his honor that he won’t attack us?”

At Ghent’s unexpected shout, Elayra jumped, a hand going from the knotted rope to the hilt of her saber. Drust’s head turned to look behind him. Remorse abandoning its place, a scowl pulled at Drust’s face.
Elayra unintentionally mimicked the Knight’s expression, glowering at Ghent. “What does it look like I’m doing, Featherhead?” She released her sword and returned both hands to the knot. “I’m untying him!”
At Ghent’s unnecessary reminder of what Drust had done, Elayra’s teeth clenched. Her back still ached and a dull throb at the base of her head threatened to turn into a headache, giving her more than enough of a reminder on its own of what had happened.
Drust stiffened, gaze turning to the front of him and hands tightening into fists.
When Ghent nearly hit Drust with the glowing end of the stick, Elayra instinctively and swiftly reached out to grab it’s unenchanted bark. “Watch it, you ignoramus!” She jerked it aside, angling it away from Drust and careful to not hit herself or Ghent in the process.
She leaned closer to Ghent, weary ire glowing in her gray eyes. “What, you don’t trust my judgment?” she growled. “You don’t think I know what I’m doing after spending my entire life with him? You think I can’t—”
“Enough!” Drust shouted through his teeth.
Elayra winced and looked to the ground. Reluctantly, she released her hold on Ghent’s enchanted weapon.
“And I was worried you’d started to get along,” Drust sneered, making Elayra grimace. He looked over his shoulder to see Elayra better, his face drawn.
Elayra thought she saw the dark veins on his face pulse, but hoped it was only a trick of the flickering firelight.
“You know how our world works. He,” Drust jerked his head toward Ghent, the action merging with a twitch, “doesn’t.”
Drust let out a heavy, slow breath and looked forward once more, his chin lowered. “My word would mean nothing, boy.” Loathing saturated his voice, his words clipped. “I can’t control the Curse. I can only fight against it until it wins.”
“It feeds on his negative emotions and thoughts,” Elayra put in, her voice stiff, but quiet. She stared at the ground between her and Drust, not wanting to look directly at either of her companions. “The stronger those are…”
“The more strength it gives the Curse to fully consume me,” Drust finished for her flatly. “It’s as parasitic as what it feeds on. My emotions and thoughts fuel the Curse as much as the Curse fuels them until only it and its desires remain.” His fists squeezed tighter behind him.
“He’s not fully Curse-ridden.” Elayra glanced to Ghent, a trained wary eye at least partially on Drust. “He’s the only half-Cursed we know of. But that’s why he can fight it. Why he’s actually cognitive, unlike the Forsaken or Forgen. If nothing else, it’s made him stronger.”
“That also makes me more dangerous than the Forsaken or their offspring.” He glanced toward Elayra, a warming shining in his veined eyes.
He looked away with a sigh and shake of his head. “The Curse should have killed me with the rest of the Black and White Knights the instant it touched us. But it didn’t. Elayra thankfully remained sound. But I… I became this!” he finished in a low snarl, disgust and hatred saturating his voice. His neck twitched more violently than before. He clenched his teeth and shut his eyes, making himself take a few deep breaths.
Elayra fully looked to him, her expression as firm as her words. “My guardian and teacher is what you became. I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again. I trust you, Drust. If anyone can keep the Curse in check, it’s you.”
Drust snorted. “We digress,” he changed the subject darkly. He shifted his hands uncomfortably within the rope. The loosened knots gave him a bit more slack, but either it was not enough for him to easily pull free, or he chose to remain bound.
“Your caution is admirable, boy,” he began, his voice back to a forced cold calm. He tilted his head toward Ghent. “I swore long ago to protect you and Elayra. The only thing I can swear to you now is that I will never willingly break that oath. Even if it means my life. If that’s not enough for you, so be it. I’d suggest finding a better way to tie me down for the night for your own peace of mind.” He moved his arms, puling the rope as far apart as it allowed in emphasis.
“We’re not—!”
“Quiet, girl!” Drust snapped with another twitch of his neck, interrupting Elayra’s protest. “I’m not giving this choice to you! Ghent’s the one I nearly killed. Not you.”
Elayra’s mouth snapped shut and she exhaled heatedly. Teeth clenched and face hard from irritation, she looked to Ghent, her expression daring him to deny Drust’s release.

“What judgment?!” Ghent blurted, standing his ground even as Elayra leaned closer. He fumed in silence, mentally responding to each question she hurled at him. No, he didn’t trust her judgment. No, he didn’t think she knew what she was doing. He thought Drust was crazy, and she was crazy for defending him.
Before Ghent could get a word in edgewise, Drust put an end to what might have become their biggest argument. Ghent shot Elayra a quick, accusatory glare. He waited for Drust to go into a tirade of his own against him, but he never did.
Ghent blinked. It almost sounded like Drust was siding with him. He looked to the man quizzically, surprised by the admittance of his word meaning nothing. There went that idea.
As Drust opened up about the Curse, Ghent's eyes were drawn to the ebony lines marking the man's skin. He had a vague idea of what the Curse was, but much about the disease remained a mystery to him.
Near the end of his explanation, Drust sounded like he hated himself. Or at least he hated what the Curse was turning him into. It was a cruel fate; he had lost so much and now he was losing himself.
Ghent's heart weighed heavier with the knowledge. Without his anger to fuel him, he felt tired in more ways than he thought possible. He couldn't admit it out loud, but maybe Elayra was right to give Drust another chance.
As the conversation returned to the present, Ghent was amazed that his interference be referred to as admirable. 'Admirable' was certainly better than being likened to a mother hen. He almost flashed Elayra a smug, 'see?' smirk, but he sobered, focusing on his sneakers as the Knight repeated the sworn oath.
The words touched something inside of Ghent. Aside from his adoptive parents, he couldn't think of a single person who would be willing to protect him. It was kind of nice to have someone dedicated to his personal safety. Even if that someone wasn't always dependable.
"No...that's good enough for me," Ghent lifted his head, feeling differently after the conversation. "I mean, you're obviously not angry enough to hurt us now. And, uh..." the words trailed off into an awkward lull. He kind of wanted to apologize for being a pain, but he didn't want to admit his faults. Especially not in front of Elayra.
"Well? What are you waiting for, Blondie?" Ghent stepped aside, eager to change the subject. "Hurry up and untie him. Your knot looks terrible, by the way."

Fists held at her sides, Elayra’s brows furrowed slightly as she watched Ghent’s expression change and his demeanor loosen. He looked almost… humbled. As if a bit of understanding had, at last, sunk into his arrogant brain.
She let out a heavy sigh of relief when Ghent gave his response.
“The night’s still young,” she muttered under her breath as Ghent’s voice trailed off.
Drust snorted at her quiet statement, the corner of his mouth twitching.
Elayra grimaced, pausing to make sure she had not created a trigger. But Drust still looked as calm as the Knight could get, his gaze hard and muscles ever at the ready. She had the suspicion he agreed with her.
She turned to her knot and she reached for the rope just as Ghent spoke again.
“What are you waiting for, Blondie?”
You to get some common sense, she thought, only just managing to bite the retort back from forming on her tongue. She needed to think of Drust. To focus on not aggravating him by fighting with Ghent.
This was going to be a long night.
Teeth clenched, she cast Ghent a quick glare as she untied the last couple loops of the knot binding Drust’s wrists.
“It was half untied, you ignoramus!” Elayra straightened and turned to Ghent as the rope fell away.
Scowling, the Knight maneuvered himself so he sat on the ground.
Elayra crossed her arms. “I’d say yours looks like an infant chimp did it, but that’d be an insult to the chimp.”
“Elayra,” Drust bit.
It was going to be a very long night indeed.
Elayra’s mouth snapped shut. Her aggravation glowed in her eyes almost as intensely as the flickering flames. She looked to Drust in time to see him locate the knot in question.
Drust’s scowl deepened. With a simple tug at the bulk of the knot, it came loose.
Elayra shot Ghent a smug smirk, doing her best to hide it from Drust.
“My pack?” Drust unwrapped the rope from around his legs. The effort he put into ignoring his charges’ eternal bickering strained on his face. His fingers froze as another thought struck him. “My katana?” A hint of panic entered his harsh voice, his gaze snapping to Elayra.
“We’ve got it,” Elayra hurriedly reassured. “In your pack.” She nodded to where his pack sat on the opposite side of the fire.
Drust relaxed slightly. He gave a jerky nod and grunted his approval. He looked to where she indicated, the firelight glinting eerily on the glazed crimson of his irises.
Completely freed, he stood. He inhaled, the sound a mix of a hiss and snarl as he wavered on his feet. He lurched forward, scrunching his eyes tight and gripping his head.
“Drust!” Elayra stepped to his side. She reached one hand toward him to try helping him to stay upright. Unsure what caused his distress, the other wrapped the hilt of her sword, just in case.
Drust gripped Elayra’s shoulder, steadying himself.
Elayra gasped; his sudden added weight and tight hold on her already aching shoulder sent a spike of pain down it and to her back.
Drust opened his eyes, his gaze unfocused. He hastily released Elayra and instead dropped to one knee before the campfire.
“I hate sleeping mist,” he growled, running a hand through his dark, messy hair. Bits of dirt and grass knocked free and fell to his shoulders. He looked sideways at Elayra, concern and self-loathing flashing momentarily over his face.
Elayra resisted the urge to rub her shoulder. Determined to keep her ‘I'm fine’ card in play as always, she stepped around the fire to retrieve his pack for him, doing her best to avoid further bothering her injuries.
“I don’t need it, girl.”
Elayra paused at his usual snapping tone, ready to lift the pack by one of its straps.
Drust nodded stiffly to the ground. “Sit.” He glanced to Ghent. “I’ve seen corpses that look more alive than you two. Don’t deny it,” He added with a snort when Elayra opened her mouth to protest. “Even Knights know they have limits, girl. Rest. Eat. And I’m sure you have questions,” he added to Ghent through a sigh. “Only a fool wouldn’t.”
Elayra made a snide look that said, ‘Well, it is Ghent.’ Exhaling, she reluctantly did as Drust ordered. She sat beside her smaller pack, basking in the field of warmth the flames created. She had been going for so long, she dreaded the inevitable outcome of rest almost as much as what would happen if she kept going.

It was too easy. Ghent failed to hold back a laugh as Elayra took the bait. He was no longer laughing when she likened his skills to that of an infant chimp, however. Scoffing, he folded his arms across his chest, mimicking her without realizing it.
"You're just jealous," he directed his attention to the knot, waiting for Drust to struggle with it so he could prove his knot was superior. Instead, the knot came undone so fast Ghent would have missed it if he had blinked.
"Seriously?" Ghent’s arms drooped. Magic was at work here, he was sure of it. There was no way his knot was that bad. He didn't have to look at Elayra to know she was smirking. He practically felt it.
"Yeah, well. Something must be wrong with your rope.” Ghent scooped the rope up from the ground and began wrapping it into a coil, more annoyed than he cared to let on. He wished he was good at something besides running his mouth.
He stiffened as Drust’s tone changed to something he didn’t expect. Was he worried over a katana? Ghent wondered if it had sentimental value, or maybe weapons were hard to come by in Wonderland. The boy nodded, confirming Elayra’s response as to where the blade was.
When Drust gripped his head, Ghent's heart went into a panicked frenzy. The Knight appeared distressed, as if the Curse was taking over again. Terrified, Ghent looked to Elayra, but the girl didn’t seem afraid. At least, not for the same reason he was. He stood by and allowed her to help Drust if she wanted to. He couldn't very well stop her.
Ghent winced out of sympathy when he heard her gasp. Even though he and Elayra fought over everything, he certainly didn't want her to be in pain. He made an effort to help, but Drust took a knee instead. It was one of the rare times where they were about equal height.
"You don't have to tell me twice." Ghent liked the sound of resting. He wasn't sure how his legs were supporting him. He dragged his feet toward the fire, freezing as Drust mentioned him having questions.
"Questions. Right." Ghent blinked dazedly, missing the look from Elayra. His mind suddenly felt very empty. He passed the coil of rope to Elayra before sitting at the opposite side of the fire. He sat there purposely so he could have both in his line of vision once Drust joined them.
Ghent stared into the fire until the flames created an orange blur. Now that he had an opportunity to learn more about Wonderland, he didn't know what to do with it. He wanted to understand magic better, but he didn't know where to begin. He also had an increasing desire to ask about his mother, if he still had one. No one had mentioned her, which lead him to suspect a number of gut wrenching possibilities.
“When can I go home?” The first question flew out of his mouth before he had a chance to stop himself. He regretted it instantly, but it was too late to take it back. His constant thought was out in the open.
“I mean,” Ghent stammered as he looked to his hands, cheeks burning. “I know the portal’s busted right now, but after we take her out, will things go back to how they used to be?” he braved a look in Drust’s direction, seeking him out for any shred of hope.
"And what's up with magic here? It feels...different. How am I supposed to get it to work?" The questions came naturally now. So naturally, that Ghent was barely offering them a word in edgewise.

Drust’s eyes followed Ghent as the boy moved to the fire. The man exhaled then stood, slower this time. Beneath Elayra’s watchful gaze, the man collected his pack and brought it closer to the campfire. He sat with his legs crossed, the trio forming a triangle.
Elayra raised her hands toward the fire, warming her fingers in the short silence. The crackle of the feasting flames filled the clearing, its snaps and pops drowning out the majority of the moans of the spirits of the woods.
At last, Ghent broke the silence with the first of his questions.
Drust’s jaw stiffened, his neck twitching slightly, while anger joined the rising warmth beginning to color Elayra’s cheeks.
“What?!” Elayra’s hissed voice echoed around them.
Before she could say more or Drust silence her, the boy quickly continued, explaining himself. She looked to Drust at the audacity of the question. The dark glare he gave her made her look hastily back to the dancing orange licks as the boy voiced a second question.
Another short silence fell before Drust answered, a sneer pulling lightly at the side of his pale lips.
“Wonderland has been Cursed for years, boy,” he began in a low growl, his eyes on the heart of the flames. “The damage is done. Our world won’t transmute back into what it was. But it’d be a start. The portals should reopen once they sense the Curse’s threat has been abolished. The only reason the portal to Earth opened now was because of spell cast before the Crimson Curse. That their spell worked speaks hope to all of them opening once more.”
Elayra suppressed a sigh at the old-to-her news. She only half listened to Drust, paying more attention to his tone than his words.
Without an imminent threat on their lives to keep adrenaline pumping, her aches and pains slowly began to fully demand her attention. Tiredness settled in, and her stomach grumbled, reminding her of how long it had been since she had last eaten.
“As for Wonderland’s magic,” Drust continued, his gaze intent on the fire as if they would keep his mind and emotions where he needed them. “Magic is a living thing, in its own right. It’s even theorized magic is what created the worlds. And it’s different in each one.
“Earth and its magic is young. Weak. Wonderland’s is ancient and powerful. And wounded. The Forsaken and Forgen can’t comprehend it. The Omitten were all but completely cut off from it the moment the Curse touched them. But you, boy.” Drust looked away from the flames to Ghent. His eyes bore into him, the man’s face unreadable.
“You have two advantages over the Curse:” Drust raised a finger in count, “you were not touched by it when it was enacted, and,” he lifted a second finger, “vinifcium have magic in their blood.” He returned his hand to his lap. “Wonderland’s magic will answer your call. But a wounded animal won’t come wholeheartedly to a wavering stranger. You must gain its trust and respect. It will get used to you the more you grow accustomed to it. As I’ve said before, magic is equal parts servant, friend, and master. But it’s just as easily and willingly your enemy.”
“Magic doesn’t take sides,” Elayra put in, tuning in for a moment as she dug around in her pack. “Not exactly. It just takes orders. The stronger your will and conviction, the stronger the magic you can control. Being a race with magic in their blood always helps, though.” She snorted, retracting her hand. She pulled out a wad of thin fabric tied together with a cross of twine. “Might not take sides, but I swear its biased.”

Understandably, the first question didn’t go over well. Ghent waited anxiously, hoping he hadn’t ticked them off enough to be denied answers. He silently begged Drust to give him another chance, and the Knight did.
Should. Ghent didn’t like that word. It meant that there was a possibility the portal would remain broken even after Wonderland was saved. Or salvaged. It didn't sound like defeating The Sorceress would magically reverse over a decade of damage. It made sense, but it was disappointing. There was no easy solution.
His brows lifted a notch when Drust mentioned the other portals. Miles had rambled something about being a World Jumper, but Ghent never really stopped to consider what that meant. The thought of new worlds should have excited him, but it made his stomach churn with uncertainty. If the worlds were anything like Wonderland, he wanted nothing to do with them.
He nodded slowly, expression contemplative as Drust addressed the differences between the world's magic. The explanation rang true to what Ghent had experienced so far. He continued to absorb the information, reminding himself to stay quiet until Drust was finished. It wasn't easy; each answer opened doors to more questions.
Despite the heat of the fire, a shiver radiated through Ghent as Drust made eye contact. Underneath his gaze he felt transparent, like the Knight could see straight into his soul. He put his attention back to the fire after Drust did, realizing it was his turn to speak.
"Wow..." The weight of the truth was heavy. Ghent scratched behind his ear, inexplicably nervous. So much was riding on his being a vinifcium. He was mostly scared, but angry too. The responsibility didn't seem fair.
"I guess I'll just have to practice some more.” Ghent plucked a few pieces of grass from the earth, far from convinced. Magic wasn’t the same as learning to ride a bicycle; a bicycle couldn’t combust or throw people in three different directions. Or whatever magic did when it felt like misbehaving.
He glanced to Elayra when she spoke up, sensing contempt in her last comment. You jealous? Ghent wanted to ask, but he stayed quiet. He didn't want to test his luck anymore than he had, especially after the stare down from Drust.
"So...is there anything else I should know about being a vinifcium? Is magic the only thing that sets me apart from you guys?" Ghent wondered, thinking it odd that he was categorized underneath a completely different race. He didn't feel that different; his connection to magic was just stronger than average.
"And did you ever use any of the other portals?" he added as an afterthought, genuinely curious now. He knew Elayra couldn't have, but Drust was older than they were. Maybe he world jumped when he was their age.

You guess? Elayra thought with a snort, a loud pop from the fire drowning out the sound.
When Ghent glanced to her, she did not miss the look that flashed over his face with his thought.
With a steely expression, she drew her dagger from her boot. She pointed it in a warning denial at Ghent, its wavy blue blade glinting in the fire. Before Drust could notice, she quickly disguised the action by using the tip of the blade to aid in loosening the knot of the bundle’s twine.
Drust paused again when Ghent finished his newest round of questions, the man’s breaths forcefully deep and even.
“Vinifcium typically possess a natural prowess in combat as well as magic.” He frowned. “But I suppose there’s the possibility that gene didn’t get the chance to develop,” he added darkly with a subtle twitch.
Elayra looked up to him at his new tone, her untied bundle put on hold.
“Or it’s just gone dormant until he needs it,” she offered, scowling at the unwanted doubt that swelled in her voice. “But magic’s what we need now, anyway,” she continued quickly, trying to amend the emotional slip. “We’ve already got two fighters.”
Drust took another deliberate breath, then gave a stiff nod. “And your aging will slow. Once you’re a bit older.”
Elayra sighed, relieved he had at least changed the subject. Keeping one eye on Drust, she unwrapped the cloth, revealing a few slabs of jerky. She began gnawing on a thicker piece. In the firelight, the dried meat looked an unusually vibrant red speckled with orange.
“I’ve traveled to other worlds twice,” Drust continued, keeping pace with Ghent’s rabbiting topics. “Once with Hatter and Elayra’s mother in the White Queen's youth.” The corner of his mouth twitched fleetingly in an almost-smile.
Elayra's grip tightened on her piece of jerky at the mention of the White Queen. Her expression hard, her full interest turned to her bit of food rather than the conversation. She once more tried to tune out all but Drust's tone.
“Then again when Hatter and I surveyed the worlds. It was necessary to determine the best one to keep you two safe. There were multiple possibilities. We chose Earth for its lack of magic users. The fewer magic threats, the better.” He snorted in disgust at the plan that had backfired.

Elayra’s threat went unnoticed by Drust, but not Ghent. He lifted his head to stare at her, mentally recoiling at the sight of the dagger. He could have sworn the flames grew larger and more menacing, reacting to her movement.
Discretely as he could, -- which wasn't discrete at all -- Ghent scooted closer to Drust, turning their former seating formation to one of an acute triangle. Better to be safe than sorry.
"Combat, huh?" Ghent dusted leftover grass from his palms, hoping Drust wouldn’t notice he was suddenly half a foot closer. “Y’know, I think I’ve noticed that before,” he poked at nonexistent muscle on his forearm. “Back on Earth, I…”
Drust hadn't finished. As he added onto his original statement, Ghent’s voice faltered. He squinted at Elayra, daring her to comment. She did, but not in the way he anticipated. She stood up for him, though Ghent suspected her only intention was to keep Drust calm.
Three fighters, princess, Ghent growled in his head. No way was he going to sit by and allow a girl pass him up in combat. If Elayra could learn to fight, he could too. He was determined to try, even if the thought of training made his body ache worse than it already was.
"My...what?" Ghent's competitive thoughts were put on hold. He stared at Drust, unsure what to do with the information. It wasn't the worst news in the world, but it was definitely weird. Would aging slower stunt his growth? He didn't dare ask, but at least that would explain why his height hadn't changed in the past year. He sat up straighter at the thought, squaring his shoulders. He didn't want to let Elayra sit taller than him.
The fact that Drust traveled worlds beyond Earth was interesting enough in itself, but when he brought Hatter and Elayra's mother into the mix, half a dozen questions sprang into Ghent’s mind.
“Whoa, really?” Ghent leaned in like a kid waiting to hear a bedtime story. He longed to hear more, but something began nibbling at his conscious. Something that presented itself as a harsh, depressing reminder.
The White Queen was dead.
"I bet you guys had some pretty cool adventures,” Ghent chose his next words carefully, forcing himself to leave it at that. His mind buzzed with unanswered questions, but he decided to save them for later. It felt wrong to pursue the topic in front of Elayra.
In the uncomfortable silence that followed, Ghent’s stomach growled to remind him it was empty. Aside from a bag of Skittles, he hadn’t eaten anything the entire day. That was definitely a personal record.
“For now, I have two more questions..." Ghent took a deep breath, pausing for effect. “Can I keep a tichari as a pet? And what’s she eating?” he jerked his head in Elayra’s direction. “Because I’m starving, and her crazy bag swallowed my backpack.”

Elayra smirked in satisfaction from beneath her tangled mass of hair at Ghent’s reaction to her threat. If Drust noticed, he gave no indication.
Drust’s gaze shifted from the flames only when Ghent leaned forward in interest, flicking to the boy for only a moment.
“I bet you guys had some pretty cool adventures,”
Drust’s lips twitched again in something somewhere between a smile and grimace, as if his mouth had forgotten how to truly smile. “Your father was a great man. But he always had a knack for finding trouble.” Amusement dusted his otherwise stiff words, his gaze growing distant in silent reminiscence.
The Knight blinked, drawing himself back to the present when Ghent broke the silence. He nodded in a poor attempt at encouraging the boy’s next questions.
Whatever either of them had expected to be those two questions, what left Ghent’s mouth was not it.
Drust looked fully to Ghent with a disbelieving scowl and twitch of his neck.
Elayra groaned. “Seriously, dodo brain? That’s what you want to know?”
“Tichari aren’t pets, boy,” Drust snapped, an extra edge in his voice. “They’re messengers of the Spiritayum. They deserve respect. Not enslavement.”
Rolling her eyes with an exasperated sigh, Elayra placed her piece of half-eaten jerky with the others. She sat the cloth on the ground beside her and sheathed her dagger. She forced herself to her knees, then reached her better arm into her pack.
Thinking of Ghent’s unusual backpack in as great detail as she could, it took her only a moment to find it. Her fingers closed around one of the cushioned straps of his pack. With more effort than she would have liked and no small amount of maneuvering, she managed to pry Ghent’s pack from hers. She let it drop to the ground beside hers, too weary to do much else after fighting it out even if she had wanted to.
She plopped heavily back into the indention she had made in the plush grass. She retrieved her jerky, glaring at Ghent. “Happy, Featherhead?”
“I trust you’ve brought provisions?” Drust asked darkly, doubtfully, eyeing the skull-patterned backpack. It looked out of place between the Wonderlanders, a modern item dropped into the center of the wrong era.

Ghent was startled by the negative response to his innocent inquiry. What was wrong with wanting a pet? Drust sounded especially annoyed; Ghent suspected the Knight's patience was beginning to run out.
“I was only asking!” Ghent held up two hands to show he wasn't pursuing the idea. Minus the tension, the situation was similar to when he asked his parents for a lizard. He wasn't allowed to have a pet on Earth, or Wonderland. It sucked.
As Elayra removed the backpack from her bag, Ghent forgot all about owning a tichari. He just wanted to eat.
“I’d be happier if you brought it to me, but I guess that’ll do.” Slowly but surely, Ghent got to his feet, blinking away the splotches of light assaulting his vision. He crossed the distance between them, leaning forward to grab the loop of his backpack. It was heavier than he remembered; Elayra’s pack weighed much less. “Thanks, Blondie.”
Returning to his original spot next to Drust, Ghent dropped the pack to the ground with a gentle thump and sat beside it, sitting cross legged. “Well, yeah. Provisions were the first thing I packed,” he used Drust’s word to describe his hoard of snacks. “I have a couple of sodas in here, so we should probably drink those. They’re making this thing heavy.”
Unbuckling the outer flap, Ghent dug through the oblong backpack. It wasn’t long before he produced a can of soda. The beverage was soon followed by an entire bag of Cheetos, a half-eaten bag of trail mix with the M&M’s missing, four completely flattened Zebra Cakes, assorted candy, and close to a dozen chocolate bars.
“Here we go.” Ghent unearthed two additional drinks, each identical to the first. “You guys have to try this. Earth is pretty much famous for Pepsi,” he held up the dented can so they could have a better view. It was like show and tell featuring nothing but junk food.
“I have a water bottle somewhere around here, too…” he peeked into the backpack, unable to see much inside. Articles of clothing were making it difficult to maneuver. “Oh well. You guys wanna try anything? Most of the candy’s sour, so don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Elayra snorted at his answer to the question she had intended to be rhetorical. “What a shame, you actually have to work to get it,” she mocked, her voice thick with sarcasm. She tore off another bit of her jerky with her teeth as Ghent neared to retrieve his backpack. She scowled at his nickname for her. “Have fun lugging that around, Featherhead,” She enunciated her own nickname for him slowly.
Drust watched Ghent in silence, the boy’s reassurance doing nothing to wipe the doubt from his expression. The man crossed his arms over his chest as Ghent began pulling his food out of his backpack.
Even Elayra could not help but watch, wondering what a ‘soda’ was. She leaned over, trying to get a better look beyond the flames between them. The packaging of his so-called provisions glistened as the firelight flickered over it, casting them in half shadows. The pictures on each one was stunning, the text on the like packaging too perfect, each exactly like the next.
Soon, a feast of junk surrounded Ghent, Drust’s expression falling with each item the boy removed. He glanced to the backpack, its bulk now mostly deflated.
Elayra’s brows furrowed. “Is that… cake?” she asked, eyeing the smushed white and brown of the Zebra Cakes in their strange clear bag.
It had been ages since she had seen cake. At least, any that looked edible. Even when compared to the smeared frosting and bits of crumbling yellow cake.
“It’s all sweets,” Drust growled with a twitch. He bent his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sweets. Candies.” His gaze turned to Ghent, boring into the boy. “None of that will sustain you! Have you no sense of survival? Of basic needs?”
Have you not met him? Despite the thought, Elayra slowly rose to her knees, ever conscious of the weight of her saber shifting at her belt. Every muscle groaned in protest as she silently pleaded for the Knight to keep it under control.
“Drust,” she tried to soothe. She rested her left hand on the scabbard of her sword, still partially against the ground, resisting the urge to reach for the hilt with the other. “It’s fine.” She struggled to keep her own irritation from her voice at the news Ghent had brought nothing of real sustenance. “He can have—”
Drust raised a hand toward her in gesture for her to be silent. Elayra instinctively flinched away and gripped her sword's handle, straining to get a better look at his eyes. The flickering of the fire made it difficult to judge the pulsing of the dark lines on his face from her angle.
Drust took a deep, growling breath and closed his eyes. “Save your rations, girl.” With quick, heated movements, he rose to his knees, turned to his pack, and opened his eyes.
Now facing her, Elayra breathed a tiny sigh of relief; though his irate expression could have curdled milk, the Curse had not won out. Yet.
She cast Ghent a glare, resenting him for how easily he created a potential trigger. All he had had to do was unpack.
Drust reached one handed into the main pouch of his pack and withdrew a bundle much like the one housing Elayra’s jerky. He turned and tossed the bundle toward Ghent, the action more aggressive than necessary. It thunked down amidst Ghent’s pile of junk.
“I don’t need as much as you,” he growled, his words clipped. “Dispose of most of that,” he nodded scornfully to the pile of sweets. “It’s deadweight.”

“Well, it used to be.” Ghent turned the sandwiched mess of cake and frosting over, inspecting it. Amazingly, the packaging remained perfectly sealed. “Want it?” He brought his hand back with the intention of tossing the cake to her, Drust’s comment stopping the action.
Ghent's hand fell to his side as he stared, blindsided by Drust’s sudden show of anger. Before he could figure out what he did wrong, the Knight was growling at him, going on about sustenance and basic needs. Two things that, unfortunately, Ghent never bothered to consider until that moment.
Ghent didn’t say anything. He gawked, chilled all over again by the intensity of the man’s stare. He couldn’t believe Elayra survived fourteen years with a guy who got angry over sour Skittles and chocolate.
Elayra was the first to speak up. Ghent heard her, but he didn’t dare let the man out of his vision. He wanted to say something, to defend his choice in edibles, but nothing came out. One wrong word and Drust might snap for good.
With Drust’s back to him, eye contact was broken and Ghent remembered to breathe. He caught Elayra’s glare, but failed to return it. He was too frightened by the sounds of Drust digging through the pack. Hopefully he wasn’t after something sharp.
Fearing for his safety, Ghent’s eyes darted to the piece of wood he’d set aside. The makeshift weapon was just out of reach. Thinking it best not to make any sudden moves, he remained seated, visibly flinching when something was thrown. The bundle of cloth and twine nestled among the sea of snacks, a sight far less threatening than what he expected.
More silence. Ghent looked from Drust, to the bundle, then back to Drust again. His hands were clammy; he felt like he had to deliver a public apology to an auditorium full of angry parents.
Who’s the mother hen now? Ghent muttered in his mind, annoyed that Drust cared so much about what he decided to consume. Who gave him the right to say what he could and couldn't eat? No one, that's who. Sighing through his nose, Ghent chewed the inside of his cheek, contemplating his options. The immature side of him wanted to mouth off or throw the bag of Cheetos at Drust's head, but common sense won out.
The boy took a breath, steeling his nerves. He felt like shouting into a pillow out of sheer frustration, only shouting wasn't going to get his stomach to quit reminding him that it had been neglected.
"If you want me to ditch twenty dollars worth of snacks, fine. But at least meet me half way." Ghent jostled the bag of trail mix, its contents shifting with the movement. “This is the healthiest thing here, so it'd be dumb to waste it. We can split this, and…uh, whatever that is,” he eyed the bundle, wondering what type of animal the jerky originated from. For all he knew, they were dining on shadowmire.
“That way, everybody eats, and my backpack gets lighter." Ghent swallowed uneasily, watching the Knight for further signs of aggression. He didn't know if the idea would resonate with Drust's Curse-driven mind, but he felt the need to try. "Sound good?"