Elayra's reaction was better than Ghent could have hoped for. He cracked up at her expense, silently congratulating himself for an act convincing enough to fool her.
Alas, his amusement was short-lived. His laughter morphed into a shout as Elayra slammed into him, his back hitting the ground with more force than he would have expected from a girl her size. Before he could even think to react, he felt the pointed end of a sword pressing against his neck.
Ghent saw Elayra angry before, but this was a new level of anger. When she asked if he thought his prank was funny, he was foolish enough to try responding with a truthful answer. “…Moderately?” he ventured, yelping as she pressed the sword closer. It was officially time to panic.
“Okay—okay!” Ghent gasped. He was astounded by the rage in her eyes, a look strongly reminiscent of the madman who raised her. “It isn’t funny!” he raised his hands in a show of surrender, hissing a breath once she pressed the blade close enough to draw blood.
Left with few options, Ghent stayed still. He stared up at Elayra as she began to insult him, her words sharp as her sword. He knew she didn’t exactly think the world of him, but he didn’t think her opinion of him was that low. He gritted his teeth, keeping silent as she vented. If he antagonized her further, he’d have more than his aching feet to worry about.
Elayra cut her rant short, opting to shout in frustration instead. In that moment, Ghent thought he was done for. He moved his hands to shove her in a last-ditch effort to save himself, but he didn’t have to. She brought the blade away.
Ghent wasted no time. He scrambled to his feet and took a step back, baffled by her reaction to what he perceived as a harmless prank. He placed his fingers to his neck, checking to see if the blade pierced his skin.
“Are you crazy!?” he shouted, his voice shriller than it had been. He glared at her fumingly, his face flushed. He flinched when she turned around, dumbfounded by the command that left her lips.
“Unsheathe my…” Ghent repeated part of her sentence, amazed by her unbridled anger. Elayra was supposed to be immune, but her behavior resembled someone under the Curse's influence.
Without taking his eyes off of the enraged blonde, Ghent knelt on one knee to grab his staff. He rose to his full height, wielding the weapon sideways in front of himself. "Would you chill for a minute?" He gripped the staff tighter, desperately wishing she would reconsider her apparent desire to duel. "It was a joke, okay?! You don’t have to go all Princess Mononoke on me!”

Elayra’s grip tightened around her sword at Ghent’s bold question, his words only whetting her anger. She watched as Ghent did as she told him. Or half of it, at least, the fabric-like sheaths still covering the blades.
“Being under attack isn’t something to joke about!” She swiped her sword through the air in emphasis to her heated words. “If it’s danger you want, I’ll give it to you.” Her chin tilted downward, her voice growing dangerously soft, “Unsheathe your weapon, Humpty Dumpty!” she growled, assuming ‘Princess Mononoke’ was another of his Earth references. “Unless you’d… rather… I…”
Her words trailed off. Her head cocked slightly, catching on to a sound she had failed to notice above her shouts. Or, rather, the lack of sound. The forest had fallen quiet. Too quiet to have fled from her volume alone.
It was the quiet of prey hiding from a predator.
Elayra spun around, breath held and gaze searching. She groaned inwardly. There was no telling what had heard them. All because Ghent had decided to play a twisted joke.
“Unsheathe your weapon,” she repeated over her shoulder to Ghent. This time, soft urgency replaced her loud fury.
Her gaze settled on a small mound of mossy rocks no more than three yards from her. It lurked between where the trees grew closer together, and where they became sparser nearer to the stream. A mound she was certain hadn’t been there before.
Sensing it’d been seen, the pile of rocks came to life. Streaks of fiery red and onyx ignited to life between the stones of its body. It lifted its rocky head, dirt caked between each rock like glue keeping it together.
Its glowing crimson eyes settled on Elayra. Black veins flashed through the ethereal light of its eyes like lightening. A deep hunger shown in their depths. Chunks of loose dirt fell to the ground from its body as it stood on four long legs made from hundreds of pebbles.
Recognition dawned over Elayra as their eyes met. She didn’t dare look away from the creature’s gaze, the gesture seeming to keep them both locked in place.
“Get in the water,” she commanded, not looking to Ghent and keeping her voice low. She stepped back to follow her own instructions without taking her eyes from the newcomer.
At the first sign of movement toward the flowing stream, the rock of the beast’s head cracked opened into a round mouth. It let out a grinding roar. Jagged, crystalline teeth bared, it leapt at Elayra.
Another stony growl rose from nearer to Ghent. The higher-pitched sound rang through the woods as a second, leaner-looking rock monster rushed at him. Two thorny, vine-like tongues unrolled from its mouth. They lashed out like a whip. One reached to latch on to the wrist of Ghent’s weapon-wielding hand, the other his throat, an attempt at disarming him before it’s hefty body could hit its mark.

“Who said I wanted danger?!” Exasperated, Ghent threw his hand into the air. “For the last time, it was a joke!”
Joke or not, Elayra wasn't satisfied with Ghent's excuse. The intensity in her stare was unnerving, terrifying even. He shrank a little as she stared him down, repeating the command along with a new name to go with it.
Humpty Dumpty? That was the last straw. Ghent bristled, a spark of anger igniting in his chest. He was tired of being insulted, and he was sick of being threatened. If Elayra wanted to fight, she’d get her fight.
“A-alright, fine!” Ghent tilted the staff at an angle, removing one of the sheaths with more force than necessary. “If you want to fight so bad, let’s go! I’m not afraid of…” The sentence went unfinished as Elayra spun around. He quickly unsheathed the second half of his weapon, fearing his prank was becoming their reality.
Following Elayra’s gaze, Ghent squinted in case he missed something. He didn’t see anything unordinary. He doubted she was pranking him in return, she was too riled up for that. So what was going on?
Before he got the chance to ask, the rocks ahead of them moved.
Ghent staggered back, his jaw falling open as the red-eyed monster sprung to life. From what he could tell, its body was made almost entirely out of rock. Ghent’s eyes flickered to Elayra’s sword. He doubted their blades would do much. They’d be lucky if their weapons made a scratch. His subconscious nagged at him, urging him to remember one of the few focus words he’d learned over the course of three days.
Any plan to attack was abandoned when Elayra gave a new order. Get in the water. That, he could do. Or so he thought. Assuming Elayra would follow, he turned on his heel, but the movement seemed to agitate their foe.
The roar threw Ghent's legs into a run. He made it about three feet, but then a second roar sounded nearby, this one coming from the East. Ghent whipped his head around to look, horrified to spot another monster similar to the first. The rocks were assembled in such a way that the creature had a mouth, and two long, vine-like tongues shot out with alarming speed.
Mid-step and ill-prepared, Ghent was unable to avoid the attack. A shout escaped him as vines connected with his neck and wrist, jerking him to a painful stop. He lost his grip as a result, his staff thudding against a sparse patch of grass.
Ghent made a desperate grab for his weapon, but his mobility was restricted due to the vines. Worse than that, his attacker was coming right at him. With the hand that wasn’t restrained, he pulled at the vine around his neck in an attempt to free himself.
Ghent couldn’t work fast enough. If he didn’t do something, he was going to get crushed.
Tuito. Out of nowhere, a focus word presented itself in his mind. Despite the chaos, Ghent remembered Elayra attempting to teach him the spell back on Earth. She used it herself later, creating a magic barrier to protect them against a barrage of broken glass. He didn’t know how much damage the shield was able to handle, but he didn't have the luxury of time. It was a split-second decision on his part, and he had to go for it.
Ghent unhooked his fingers from the vine around his neck, redirecting his attention into what he hoped to achieve. He barely had time to focus, but he made those seconds count.
“TUITO!” He outstretched his hand and turned his head, squeezing his eyes shut in case his focus word failed to prevent impact.

The vine-like tongue tensed reflexively around Ghent’s wrist as the boy tried to reach for his weapon. A satisfied clicking sound akin to pebbles tapping against each other rumbled from the rock beast as it flew through the air. But its success was short lived.
The rare sensation of magic rippled through the air as it reacted to Ghent's panic. In the instant before the creature collided with the boy, a translucent blueish-gold shield spread from the his outstretched hand.
The monster's Mastiff-sized body collided head-first with the shield with the crunch and rumble of a miniature landslide. Dust and rocks puffed into the air. The creature’s tongues tore from Ghent, flailing about for a surprised moment before retracting back to the beast's mouth.
The creature slid from the magic shield and pulled back. What bits of earth and stone it had lost followed after it, sucking back into its body. Slivers of crepuscular light glowed through its now deformed shoulders as if a dying sun lurked at its core. Its lost pieces quickly returned to their places, hiding the glow.
Quickly regaining its composure, with a grating snarl, the beast crouched down to dance around Ghent, its tongues moving quicker than the rest of it. They lashed out at his feet, trying to shepherd the boy away from the stream and his weapon. It eyed him with a mild intelligence, watching for further tricks.
Not far from him, Elayra jumped into a somersault from the path of her own stony assailant.
The monster skid to a heavy halt where she had stood. Its stubby toes dug into the ground, leaving trenches in the soft, damp earth in its wake.
She landed on her feet as the monster barked out its frustration at missing. It whirled back around to face her, its crystalline teeth bared.
She took a few quick steps backward, the monster’s tongues unfurling from its mouth. It hunkered down, readying itself for another lunge as she swiftly drew her dagger from her boot.
Elayra took a few more backward steps further from the stream.
The creature raced toward her. This time, Elayra met it head on. She ran toward it, using what bit of space she’d put between them to gather speed.
The beast leapt. She abandoned her sword and dropped to the ground. Using the damp, muddy earth to her advantage, she slid beneath the creature’s rocky underside. Heat radiated from its body, brushing over her as she thrust her dagger upward, both hands on its hilt.
The metal scraped against its underside before it found one of the cracks of dirt between mossy stones. It sunk into it near its hind leg. With a mix of her momentum and strength, she tore it through the creature. She nearly lost her hold on the dagger, but managed to keep the weapon.
The beast howled. Its partially torn hind leg gave way as it landed. It lurched toward the ground as the stones broke off from it. Away from its main body, they crumbled into a formless pile beside the off-balanced creature.

The magic answered Ghent's call almost immediately. He grinned as the shield came into creation, the sight exciting him despite the danger he was in. Before he could so much as blink, the strength of the shield was put to the test.
The barrier absorbed most of the monster’s impact, but it didn't take all of it. Ghent fell, the shield flickering as he hit the ground. The sensation was similar to when he skateboarded into the pole of a streetlight. Except the streetlight didn't have long, thorny tongues to worry about.
Groaning, Ghent forced himself to his feet, daring a quick glance in Elayra's direction. When he looked back to the monster, he discovered the shield had vanished completely. Whether this was due to his lapse in concentration or overall fatigue, he couldn't tell, but he didn't have the strength to reconnect with the world's magic.
Crap! Ghent gripped his head in an effort to refocus. He turned with the creature as it began to circle him, the tongues making another appearance. He jumped back clumsily to avoid them, a move that took him further away from the river and his weapon. While this went on, the commotion behind him increased as Elayra sprang into action.
Ghent eyed his staff, visibly tense. His wrist and neck stung, pieces of broken thorns still embedded in his flesh. If he wanted to avoid further injury, he needed to act before the monster lashed out again.
Left with few options, Ghent forced his aching legs into a run. He made a beeline for his staff, but he had another objective in mind. At the last possible second, he changed direction. His sneakers skidded against the damp ground, the friction creating indents in the mud. If he ran fast enough and moved in a zigzag, maybe he had a chance to reach the lake in one piece.
While Ghent made an effort to flee, he overheard the first monster howl in pain. He turned his head, stunned by the sight of its leg crumbling into a sad pile of rubble.
How? Ghent gawked, catching a glimpse of post-battle Elayra. His eyes went wide when he noticed the glint from the dagger in her hand. No way. Could a blade really could penetrate rock? It didn't matter. His weapon was left on the ground.
"Are you coming or not?!" Ghent shouted to her as he veered left, unsure what her plan entailed.

The rock beast gave a quick, yelping growl in delighted surprise when Ghent made a dive for his weapon. More importantly, toward it. It hunkered down and pounced at his apparent challenge. Its tongues lashed out ahead of it for the foolish arm it anticipated reaching for the staff.
Its surprised glee turned into a furious growl as it skid to the ground, its prey lost to the beast in Ghent's rush for to the river.
Meanwhile, Elayra slid to a stop on the damp ground, mud and grass stains streaking her back. Ignoring the sting of the slide, she hopped to her feet. She ran toward Ghent, ready to help him. But he’d somehow managed to hold his own, even beating her to the punchline of making for the stream.
She altered her path to join him in the race for the burbling water.
Behind Ghent, the leaner rock beast let out a grinding growl and leapt after the boy. Its tongues unfurled from its mouth again, what broken bits of thorns it suffered already regrown. The vines shot forward at calf-height, aiming to trip him before he reached the water. Both lashed out at different areas in an attempt at predicting where the boy would zag to next.
“Ghent! Behin—!”
Her words cut off in a strangled gasp as her own monster’s tongue wrapped around her neck. It tugged, hard, making her stumble back She half-turned and raised her dagger to cut the beast’s tongue.
The monster hurtled toward her in a lumbering, uneven gait. Its tongues, twisted together to form a single thick rope, reeled into its mouth as it neared like a fishing line. The rocks of its mostly missing leg tumbled after it in a dusty cloud to reform the missing limb.
Doubting she could sever the thick tongue in time, she gripped it with her free hand to give herself more slack, thorns biting into her palm. At the last possible second, she tossed herself from the monster’s direct path.
Its eyes glowed brighter in fear as it hurtled to the water rather than into its target.
Elayra rasped a gasp, tumbling forward and nearly dropping her knife as the beast tried to use its hold on her as an anchor to keep itself from the stream. But it was too little, too late.
The beast’s front foot caught on a tree root hidden beneath the earth. It tumbled head-over-heals with a loud, terrified screech, the sound a sharp stone scraping against a chalkboard. It fell into the water with a hissing splash like hot coals doused in a bucket of water.
Before she could free herself, the now short leash of its tongue dragged Elayra into the water behind it. The deeper center of the stream swallowed them whole.

The river couldn’t have been more than nine feet away, but it felt twice that far. Before Ghent had a chance to heed Elayra’s warning, the vine caught just above his sneaker. He tripped and flew forward, hitting the ground so hard his teeth clacked together. The fall cost him precious seconds, placing him in harm’s way yet again.
Elayra wasn’t any better off. Still grounded, Ghent witnessed the injured beast’s retaliation. Its tongue caught Elayra around her neck, doing what it could to restrain her. It then charged with the aggression of an angry bull, leaving oddly shaped footprints with each step.
Ghent couldn’t seem to catch his breath. It was hard enough to save his own skin, but now he had Elayra to worry about. If he didn’t move fast, things were about to get ugly for both of them.
Spurred by the desire to survive, Ghent quickly rolled over, jerking his foot away in fear of being snared. He clambered to regain his footing, only too aware that he and Elayra were right where the monsters wanted them. Somehow he had to avoid their attacks while also helping to free her.
Elayra acted before Ghent had the chance to spout off another focus word. Thanks to her quick reflexes, she narrowly avoided the collision, but the vine was still wrapped around her neck.
What happened next was a blur. The river stood in the path of the monster, and the beast was moving too fast to change course. It lost its footing, tipping dangerously. Ghent’s eyes grew wide, his brain connecting the dots before the scene could play out.
The monster toppled into the water, and it took Elayra along with it.
"Elayra!" Panic set in. Ghent didn't know how deep the water was, but if she was anchored down…
Terrified she’d drown, the boy forgot his surroundings and ran blindly after them.

Time seemed to slow for a split second around Elayra before the water smacked into her. Its chill flooded over her, plunging her into wet, airless darkness. Directions became a relative concept. Warmth radiated through the water, heated by the rock monster’s fiery core.
The beast’s howls and struggles vibrated through the rushing stream along with a slew of fuming bubbles. The vine tongue tugged at Elayra, loosening and tightening with the monster’s futile attempts to return to dry land. Yet still, it refused to give up its hold on the girl.
The stream’s floor bumped into her side. With the revelation of what was up and what was down, Elayra ground her teeth and pulled her feet under her. She tried to stand, but the beast’s tongue pulled taught, tethering her under.
Panic and fear flared inside her, sapping what bit of oxygen she still had in her lungs. She forced her eyes open.
Mere inches separated her from air. Sunlight streamed through the undulating surface, creating wavering patches of dirt-speckled light. The murky water did little to help her blurred vision. But no more than a yard from her, she could make out the glowing core of the rock beast. Its fiery light flickered and shifted as the water forced off its natural armor, eating away at the dirt keeping its rocks packed together. The rocks and stones protecting its vulnerable center.
Her lungs began to burn, screaming for a fresh breath. She couldn’t wait for the beast to die and release her.
She reached for the dark line of the beast’s tongue, the resistance of the water slowing her down. As if in response, the monster pulled her forward and down to her knees. Squinting to help shield her eyes from the bits of debris rushing into her from the stream’s flow, she brought up her dagger, thankful she’d managed to keep ahold of it.
The beast’s struggles grew more frantic as she sawed at its tongue. It jerked her around, making it more difficult to keep the blade on one spot.
Above the stream’s surface, a giddy rumble reverberated in Ghent’s rock monster’s throat when one of its tongues lashed around the boy’s ankle. Honing in on its target, the first vine-like tongue moved to wrap around him. The second made for the fallen boy’s other leg. But the boy tugged free before the first could fully clench around him.
Then came the splash and fizzle of the water. The beast’s attention snapped to the stream, a flicker of fear making its eyes glow a touch brighter. Then its fear turned into a panicked half-understanding.
The beast seemed to forget about its quarry as much as Ghent forgot about it. The creature leapt toward the edge of the water.
It stopped at the bank, keeping a safe distance from it. It let out a series of low, gravelly yowls. The unnerving cry echoed over the water, the element amplifying the sound.

Acting on sheer adrenaline, Ghent sped forward at full speed. When he reached the edge of the bank, he leapt, the boost shortening his distance before he collided with the river.
The cold engulfed him, the animalistic wails of the leaner rock muffled beneath the water. Ghent shot up with a gasp, his feet meeting the ground when he extended his legs. When standing, the water stopped around his chest.
“Elayra?!” Ghent scramble-swam to get closer to the correct location, his eyes never straying from the spot Elayra disappeared from. The movement below confirmed his suspicions that he was in the right spot.
Taking in a quick, shaky breath, Ghent dropped underneath the water.
At first, he didn't see anything. His vision was compromised by the dirt, and the suffering beast’s thrashing made it difficult to tell what was going on. Ghent barely spared the monster a glance, his eyes scanning for Elayra. Sure enough, she was stuck nearby.
From what Ghent could make out, Elayra was conscious, but at the mercy of their foe. She was on her knees, the slicing motion of her hand indicating she still had the knife.
Kicking his legs behind him, Ghent swam through the bits of unearthed debris to get closer. Ignoring the natural desire to take a breath, he bent his knees to be level with Elayra. He assessed the situation as best he could, his brow furrowed with concern. The beast was jostling her around so aggressively, he couldn't tell what was going on with its tongue.
Just die already! Ghent wanted to scream at the monster. Using both hands, he grabbed hold of the tongue just below the area she cut. Ignoring the thorns cutting into his flesh, he held on tightly, seeking out the place Elayra worked to cut. A mark was there, but it wasn't enough to break away, and he was positive she wouldn't have the strength to sever the rest on her own.
Ghent made the decision to let go, and instead grabbed for the knife in an attempt to take it from her. He grit his teeth, sensing her resistance.
With his free hand, he motioned wildly to himself to indicate he could take over. Time was ticking at a nauseating pace, and he believed himself better capable of finishing the job.

Her last, small breath hadn’t been near enough. As the beast’s struggles slowed, the water fizzling and bubbling around it, so, too, did Elayra’s. Her lungs screamed at her to inhale, and her vision crackled with spots at the edges. She felt the pressure she put behind the sharp blade begin to wane faster than she’d expected.
She kept only two thoughts in her head, two orders to focus on beyond her burning lungs:
Don’t drop her dagger.
Survive.
A hand touched hers, trying to take her weapon. The surprise sent a last burst of focus to her brain, and her grip tightened instinctively around the dagger’s hilt. She looked toward the second hand’s owner, the terrified fire burning in her gaze nearly brighter than the dying core of the nearby rock monster.
Ghent?!
Though the water turned his form into little more than a dirty blur, she was positive it was him. Even amidst the stirred muck, she got the gist of his wild gestures.
Reluctantly, she handed the dagger toward him hilt first. Her grip loosened on it more from lack of oxygen than will, only the buoyancy from the water keeping her arm level.
Only feet away, the rock beast’s movements slowed further. Its weak body slumped against the riverbed, sending an extra cloud of earth into the water. Its fiery core sputtered and sparked, fighting for life as fiercely as Elayra as it dwindled, its armor nearly entirely torn away by the stream’s currents.

Had he been on land, Ghent would have heaved a sigh of relief. He hurriedly accepted the dagger, almost losing sight of it as the murkiness of the water increased. He didn’t have time to think, only act. He had one shot at saving Elayra from drowning.
He grabbed the vine again, pulling it as tautly as he could. The monster’s thrashing had already slowed considerably, a sign the beast was fading fast.
Elayra's fading too. The thought sent another surge of panic through Ghent, bubbles escaping his mouth during an accidental exhale. He clenched his teeth, hoping to steel his nerves.
Focus. Jaw set in determination, he slid the blade down until it met with the indentation Elayra made. He began sawing at the rest, moving as quickly and effectively as the water would allow. His eyes flickered toward where Elayra was supposed to be, but the water was too murky to check her status.
Ghent continued to work feverishly, inwardly cursing the monster for their predicament. Although the vine was inches from his face, he couldn’t see enough to tell how much progress he'd made.
A month in Hollow Forest couldn't have prepared Ghent for the terror he felt. His lungs began to hurt, his desire to take a breath gnawing at him like an annoying itch he couldn't scratch. He couldn't imagine how Elayra felt, but he would know soon enough if the vine didn't break.
The surface was close enough to taunt them, the thin line between life and death available to them if only they stood. For both their sake, Ghent refused to give up. If he didn’t drown with her, Drust would surely kill him when he found out what happened. Either way, Ghent’s fate was intertwined with hers.
His effort paid off. After what felt like forever, Ghent felt something give. The blade had broken through the vine.
Ghent dropped the dagger. Without giving her much time to react, he grabbed Elayra by arm and shot to his feet, pulling the girl with him. As they broke through the water, he gasped and coughed. He gripped her shoulders tightly, searching her face with wildly for any sign of life. “Are you okay?!” His voice cracked between a ragged cough, his face drained of color. "Say something!"

Elayra fought hard against the darkness threatening to take her. She barely registered Ghent taking her dagger, or the new tug on the vine-like tongue as he started hacking away at it. The muscles of the deadly tether contracted and relaxed around her throat with the beast’s pain, refusing to let go even in the creature’s death throes.
With one of her focus points taken from her, she tried to concentrate on something else, anything else besides the heat coercing her to inhale.
She turned her thoughts to their mission. To Ghent. To Drust. She couldn’t protect them, couldn’t save her guardian from the Curse, if she was dead. But concentrating had become difficult. Lightheadedness made her mind feel more weightless than the water made her body.
The darkness began to close in around her vision. One way or another, her lungs were going to get what they wanted.
Then, what seemed like simultaneously all at once yet minutes apart, she felt the vine at her throat go slack, a hand grip her arm, and the rush of upward movement as Ghent pulled her to her feet. Toward the surface. Toward air.
The moment her head breached the surface, she gulped in a breath. Her angry lungs immediately expelled it in a series of coughing sputters, ridding themselves of what liquid had seeped into them.
Her oxygen-deprived muscles too weak to immediately hold her up, she stumbled and leaned against Ghent as he, too, sucked in the fresh air.
It took her still recovering mind a second to register as Ghent took her shoulders and turned her so she fully faced him. A second more to articulate words.
“I… I’m fine,” she said through shuddering breaths, her voice softer than she'd intended.
She reached up for the lifeless tongue still wrapped loosely around her neck like a scarf, and carefully pulled it off. It splashed to the water as the last of the bubbles from the creature’s fiery core fizzled to the surface, fully snuffing out its life.
A devastated, echoic yowl emitted form the nearby rock creature.
“Get down!” Elayra hissed, the monster’s cry snapping her muddled mind back into focus. She tugged at Ghent’s arm as she dipped down in the water so only her nose up bobbed at the surface.
The beast’s tongues lashed out once, furiously, at the duo. Hiccuping cries burbled from its throat. It reeled in its tongues as quickly as they had shot out, it's glowing eyes locked on the spot its companion had fallen in. Then, with a mournful cry worse than a knife to a chalkboard, it sauntered away from the water toward the tree line.
Once the creature had reached the first copse of trees, Elayra dared to straighten.
“Breeding pair,” she began, the words breathless as if she was still trying to conserve air. “Luckily, you had the female. Take out the male, and the female’s self-preservation instincts kick in. She won’t be back.”
She took another deep breath, relishing the feel of it, letting its life-giving powers seep back into her muscles. She waded carefully toward the bank. The water grew quickly shallower before coming to a tapering drop-off against the bank.
Elayra pulled herself up onto the riverbank, boots and legs still in the water. She flopped back into the muddy grass, arms splaying out beside her. Her soaked hair clung to her face. Watery red streaked from at least a dozen small, stinging puncture wounds from the tongue’s thorns.
She laid there for a long moment, squinting up at the sky that looked far too bright after the dimness of being underwater. Soon, her heavy breaths slowed to a more relaxed, rhythmic pace.
“You’re an idiot, you know that, Featherhead?” The soft words left her lips with less harsh conviction than her normal for him.

Ghent waited with bated breath, a mess of nerves until Elayra finally showed signs of life. He was so relieved when she responded, he nearly hugged her.
He swallowed uneasily, giving her time to compose herself. She sounded so…weak. When he was sure Elayra was stable enough to stay upright on her own, he released her shoulders and remained nearby as she removed what remained of the vine.
Before he could say anything about the nasty marks left by the thorns, an awful cry rang out from the shore. Ghent bent his knees to submerge himself again, the water stopping just below his nose. He stared at the creature heatedly, unable to pity it after the terror it caused them. He flinched as the tongues shot out, but relaxed when he realized it couldn’t reach them. He wished the monster would lose its balance and take a spill like its partner did.
Ghent glanced at Elayra as the monster retreated, rising to his full height after she did. Wonderland was Elayra’s turf, so he trusted her enough to believe their enemy wouldn’t return.
“Oh,” was all he managed to utter in response. He still didn’t feel sorry for them, not after the damage they caused. He coughed lightly, wondering if his heartbeat would ever again return to normal while he was still in Wonderland.
Taking in another grateful breath, Ghent began to follow Elayra. He hoisted himself onto dry land, his stinging neck and wrist a reminder of what they’d gone through.
Sitting a little bit away from Elayra, Ghent sat cross-legged, keeping a wary eye on her from a distance. Stray droplets of water dripped down his face from his hair, his bangs sticking against his forehead. He tugged at a stray thorn that remained stuck in his wrist, cursing quietly as he tossed it aside.
Ghent glanced up when the blonde spoke again. He smiled lightly despite himself, the nickname not bothering him as it normally would. He was just happy she could still say it.
“Yeah, well, this idiot just saved your life,” he reminded her with a faint smirk. Under different circumstances, he would have gloated further, but he suspected his stupid prank was partially responsible for leading the monsters to their location.
“Seriously, though…are you alright? You were under there for a long time…like, a really long time.” Ghent couldn't shake his paranoia. In the back of his mind, he remembered his dad mentioning something about dry drowning. "Did you swallow any water?"

edit: double post

Elayra growled in her throat at Ghent’s rejoinder of why her own corpse wasn’t floating downriver alongside the rock beast’s stones. She winced as the sound irked her still recovering throat. The sting of the wounds at her neck began to throb as the rush of adrenaline from the attack ebbed. She scowled and did her best to ignore the sensation.
“I suppose even jesters have their useful moments,” she responded, smirking.
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes as Ghent’s tone sobered. She had no clue how long she’d been under for. Logic told her it couldn’t have been more than a minute, if that. But it had felt like an eternity.
She shook her head at Ghent’s last question, not bothering to check that he’d seen the motion. Drawing her legs in from the water, she rose to her hands and knees. “I’m fine.”
Elayra reached up and tenderly brushed her finger over her stinging thorn wounds. She winced as her touch agitated the cuts. Watery crimson coated her fingertips as she pulled them away.
“Thank you, Ghent,” she muttered. Disbelief tinted the words. Words that, despite all odds, she had said twice to him now.
She glanced up to where the female rock beast had vanished, its form consumed by the thicker trees of the woods.
“At least you know how to clean up your messes, Featherhead.” Elayra amended her thanks with an irate snort.
She got shakily to her feet. Her body felt heavy from more than her drenched clothes, as if the weightlessness of the water called to her, trying to coax her back to its depths.
“Those were terraflames.” She stepped to her and Drust’s bags, which sat a bit more upstream from where she and Ghent had resurfaced. “They’re attracted to strong emotions not tainted by the Curse.”
She sighed heavily as she knelt between her and Drust’s packs. She opened hers, and reached inside, rummaging around within its gaping, seemingly endless insides.
“Drust told me they were kept as pets once. They were docile, and fed on any negative emotions, making their households a happy one.” The word ‘happy’ rolled from her tongue as if unaccustomed to forming it, incapable of believing that something ‘docile’ could exist in the wild. It was a fairy tale to her, nothing more. “Now… well.” She snorted a humorless chortle. “You saw. They’ll consume anything that’s attracted their attention. Flesh and all.”
She paused a moment, arm sunk in her pack to the elbow. An uneasy expression settled over her face as she looked again after the female terraflame.
“I’ve never seen them this far from Mount Crone, though,” she continued distantly, more to herself than to Ghent. “They must be getting desperate.”
She shook her head slightly. She could think about that later. Right now, both she and Ghent were wounded and soaking wet, neither of which would do them any good in town.

I’m fine. Ghent wasn’t sure why he bothered asking, he predicted Elayra’s answer before she said it. He sighed softly to himself, stilling his tongue. If he asked again she’d probably get mad.
“If you’re sure.” Ghent decided it was a safe response. He returned his attention to the river, unsure what to say next. An apology was probably in order, but the words felt stuck in his throat. Apologizing was admitting he’d been wrong, and he didn’t really want to do that.
Elayra was the one to put aside her pride first. Ghent was surprised to hear his name leave her mouth, an occurrence that didn’t happen often.
“You’re…” Ghent began, but she threw in a quick jab before he could finish. “…Welcome.” He finished, grimacing slightly. He didn't protest, though. Answering to Featherhead was a small price to pay for his blunder.
The boy fell silent, watching as Elayra rose. He readied himself to spring up if she started to collapse, but she maintained her balance. Maybe she would be fine.
Elayra began talking again, mentioning the monsters by name.
Terraflames. More monsters courtesy of Wonderland. The explanation behind the beasts basically confirmed Ghent’s suspicion that his prank led to the ambush.
Still sitting, Ghent turned his body slightly to look at Elayra as she spoke. His brows raised at the mention of the terraflames being kept as pets, an image difficult to visualize after what he’d seen of the beasts. He was further surprised to hear they were docile and actually served a purpose at one point in time.
It was strange to think that Wonderland may have once been full of wonder, rather than full of death and suffering.
Ghent returned his gaze to the river, experiencing an odd sense of loss. At one point, Wonderland had been his home. Their home. And now…
He looked to his hands, catching the resentment in Elayra’s words. Happy. She could barely speak the word without sounding bitter, and he couldn't blame her. The way Wonderland was now was all she knew. He barely survived two days, she survived fourteen years.
Great… Ghent tugged at a sprig of grass, drops of water still dripping from his hair. Now I feel guilty.
"We have pet rocks on Earth too," Ghent tried to ease his conscience with a joke, but his voice came out flat. He continued pulling at the grass, listening as Elayra elaborated a little more.
Mount Crone. Ghent didn't recognize the name. He looked to the girl inquisitively as she dug through her pack, but she didn't elaborate.
“I’ll guard our stuff,” Ghent offered, realizing she likely wanted to change into dry clothes before he bombarded her with questions. He took a breath, glancing sideways.
“And, uh…” Ghent reached to rub the back of his neck out of habit, the stinging marks warning him against the action. “Sorry. For being a pain in the…er…” he paused a second time, making the apology much more awkward than necessary. “For being a Featherhead.”

Elayra glanced up to Ghent at his news about pet rocks. Her brows raised slightly at his listless tone. If he wasn’t joking about the apparent similarity, Elayra wondered if maybe they weren’t the best of pets on Earth, either.
She removed the large wooden box of their first aid kit from her pack. Her thumb brushed over where one of the many nicks in the worn wood overlapped with a scorch mark as she sat it down on the grass. She unlatched and flipped the lid open, revealing a roll of tightly-wound bandages inside. A half empty vial of milky liquid sat beside it, cushioned by a bed of tattered fabric.
Reaching back inside her pack, a few clothing items and a fabric belt followed the box. She carefully placed them in a heap on a dryer patch of grass beside her.
Ghent again gained her attention with his offer to guard their packs. She stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out what he meant. Realization dawned in her gray eyes as her gaze flicked down to the clothes then back to him.
She shook her head once. She inhaled to respond, but Ghent spoke again. She blinked at him incredulously, questioning whether she’d heard him correctly. Had he really just apologized?
Her mouth opened once, then closed again, unsure how to respond. An apology was the last thing she’d expected from him. An excuse, perhaps, or to just continue on with their day, pretending nothing had happened, sure. But not an actual ‘Sorry.’
She turned her head from him and closed her eyes. As much as a part of her appreciated the apology…
“There isn't time to be sorry here,” she began, her voice hard and the corner of her lips and nose pulled up bitterly. “You do, you deal with the consequences, and you learn. Fast, if you know what's good for you,” she added, her voice falling into a dark quiet as she finished.
She took a deep breath, then opened her eyes to meet his. Banishing her dourness as if it had never happened, a smirk settled on her lips.
“But, like I said, you know to clean up your messes, muttonbrain.” Her expression warmed slightly into a gentler smile. But it faded as she carefully rubbed at her neck, streaks of the watery blood staining her skin and soaking into her collar.
“I suppose you're not the absolute worst companion we could've wound up with,” she continued slowly, as if tasting each word and trying to decide whether they were bitter or sweet on her tongue. Or, more importantly, whether they were a teasing lie or reluctant truth. “I'd choose you over a shadowmire any day!” An impish smirk again spread over her face and glittered in her eyes.
With a sigh, Elayra wiped her hand on her shirt then closed her pack.
“Take care of our thorn bites first.” She nodded to the wooden box’s contents. “Then worry about changing. We don’t want fresh blood on our clothes. It could put the townsfolk on our trail quicker.”
She reached into the box and grabbed the wad of bandages. She unrolled a portion of them, then reached instinctively for her dagger in her soggy boot to cut a small length from the rest.
A second of confusion made panic well in her chest at not finding the weapon. She exhaled heavily as she remembered she’d given it to Ghent. Or he’d taken it. She wasn’t entirely sure, but either way, he’d used it to free her.
“My dagger?” She reached a hand out toward Ghent, palm up, waiting expectantly.

There isn’t time to be sorry here. Ghent rubbed at the side of his jaw, unsure how to respond to the statement. It was his turn to say something, but he didn’t know what more he could possibly offer. If an apology wasn’t good enough, what was? Her reaction made him want to take the apology back.
The girl wasn’t done, however. Ghent looked to her dubiously as her tone changed, noticeably less grim than it had been. She acknowledged his ability to clean up his mess, which he thought was generous considering she nearly died.
Ghent began to reply, the words catching in his throat. To his disbelief, Elayra actually smiled.
In that short moment, Ghent forgot their past squabbles. Her smile was pretty as it was contagious. He smiled in return, feeling a sense of warmth toward her he didn’t believe possible. The apology had been worth it, if only for that.
His smile faded when he looked to her neck. His mind was brought back to the terraflames, Elayra's backhanded compliments almost going missed by him.
“Gee, thanks,” Ghent responded sarcastically, leaning back on his palms. His wrist objected to the pressure, but his spine demanded the opportunity to stretch. “You do know an ‘I forgive you’, works too, right?”
After the box was presented, Ghent begrudgingly sat up. He nodded when she mentioned bandaging their wounds first, another question blossoming in his mind. Could the Forsaken and their offspring pick up on the scent of blood? He didn’t want to ask.
Pushing the unpleasant thoughts aside, Ghent drew one leg to his chest. He rose with a groan, his muscles chastising him for the too-short break.
Venturing closer, Ghent stood about a foot away as Elayra grabbed a roll of bandages. He glanced toward the clearing while he waited, scanning the ground for his staff. When he looked back, Elayra had her hand held out to him.
“Uh…” Ghent stared at her palm, lifting his gaze to see the expectant look on her face. He turned halfway, patting himself down as if he somehow had the weapon stashed in one of his pockets. He didn’t.
“Yeah, about that? I might have…dropped it.” Ghent admitted with a lazy sort of shrug. In his opinion, losing a dagger wasn’t a big deal. Elayra probably had half a dozen others, and he wasn’t about to offer to go back in the cold water for it. “Y’know. When I was saving your life,” he reminded her, folding his arms across his chest. “What? Don’t you have another one you can use?”

What bit of camaraderie that had come over Elayra vanished instantly at Ghent’s expression to her request. Her gaze darkened as he put on a show of searching for the dagger.
If he lost it, I swear— Ghent cut off her thought with the confirmation of exactly that.
“You dropped it?!” Anger rose in her chest, drowning out the hint of geniality—or at least as close to it as she’d come in years—from only a moment ago. His simple, uncaring shrug and the ego-wrenching reminder of her near-death experience only stoked the hot emotion.
She stood quickly, glaring at Ghent.
“What? Don’t you have another one you can use?”
She ground her teeth, fists clenching at her sides. She tore her gaze from him and looked to the stream, staring as if her will alone could call the dagger back to her. But, of course, it couldn’t. What bit of magic it held wouldn't bring it back to her. Sure, Drust had a couple extras in his bag she was sure he wouldn’t mind her using to replace it. But none of those meant anything to her. They were nothing but spoils of war. Easily traded or replaced. What value the lost weapon had to her didn’t reside in having a monetary value among Omitten, but in where it had come from.
“You idiotic—” She cut herself off with a hasty glance to the trees.
She looked to the ground with a huff, scrunching her eyes shut. She took a deep breath, trying fruitlessly to calm herself. The female terraflame may not return, but there was no guarantee others weren’t close enough to sense the presence of one of its favorite meals.
Hands still fisted at her sides, she strode to where she’d dropped her sword in the fight. Retrieving it, she kept its tip lowered as she returned to Ghent. If she wanted to find her dagger, she couldn’t waste time rummaging for another in Drust’s bag. She tossed the double-edged saber to the ground near Ghent's feet without meeting his gaze. The blue blade glinted in the light as it landed with a dull thud, a couple pieces of grass succumbing to its sharpness.
“Use that to cut a swath of the bandage,” she ordered bitterly through her teeth. “If you think you can manage to not lose it, anyway,” she added with a sneer. “Get the cloth damp with the moondrop milk. Dab it on your wounds.” She stepped around their stuff and headed toward the stream. “It's a disinfectant, and will speed up healing enough to clot the bleeding.”
She hesitated near the edge of the water. Nerves made her stomach churn at the thought of going back under there. Of willingly giving herself to the element that had nearly stolen her last breath.
Her fists tightened, her anger turning instead toward the water and herself. She would not let it frighten her. It was just water, after all. And this time, she’d be entering it on her own terms.
Taking a deep breath, she took the last couple steps to the gently burbling stream.

“I didn’t drop it on purpose!” Ghent took a precautionary step back as Elayra stood, any trace of her smile completely gone. His eyes widened as she began to belittle him, this time with no underlining warmth in her words. He clenched his teeth, glaring toward the ground at his side. Just like that, they were back to square one.
“Seriously?!” Ghent wasn’t petty enough to take his apology back, but he was sorely tempted. He couldn’t keep up with Elayra’s mood swings, her inability to keep things peaceable between them for more than a few seconds. Everything he did angered her, and it was beginning to chip away at his sanity.
Gripping fistfuls of his damp hair, Ghent turned on his heel and made the decision to create distance between them. He took a breath, staring at the river heatedly. If the terraflames were attracted to negative emotions, he and Elayra were beacons in the dark.
Overhearing brisk footsteps, Ghent turned his head to see what the girl was up to. He tensed when she approached him with her saber, but rather than engage him in a fight, she tossed the weapon down at his feet. He bristled at the comment of him losing the weapon, her sarcasm practically radiating off of her.
“Whatever.” It was lame and uncreative, but it was the only response Ghent could muster. Snatching the saber by the hilt, he stalked over to the supplies and plopped himself down with a heavy sigh.
Unwinding a strip of bandaging, Ghent measured a piece long enough for his wrist. His eyes flickered up to see Elayra standing near the edge of the river. He watched as she seemed to debate with herself whether or not to go in, but then she took the first few steps into the water.
Refusing to cave, Ghent returned his attention to the medical supplies. He wasn’t about to stop her, and he didn’t feel like offering to help. If she asked nicely, he would have, but she didn’t ask nicely. Instead, she accused him.
Setting the saber down with a gentle thud, Ghent laid the strip of bandaging on his knee. He grabbed the cloth and stole another glance in Elayra’s direction.
I didn’t lose it, Ghent reassured himself, returning to the origin of their most recent squabble. I dropped it on purpose so I could help her! He frowned at the bottle of the moondrop milk, inspecting it a moment before relaxing the lever in order to remove the stopper.
“Nothing’s ever good enough, is it?” Ghent grumbled, his inner voice slipping out into the open. He wet the cloth with the moondrop milk, careful not to use too much. He didn’t need to give Elayra another reason to be upset with him.
Folding the cloth in half, Ghent pulled his sleeve away from his wrist, the damp fabric dragging some of his blood with it. He bit his bottom lip, bracing himself before applying the cloth to his wounds. Elayra didn’t mention if the moondrop milk hurt or not, but nothing good ever came from Wonderland, so he anticipated the worst.
To his relief, the moondrop milk didn’t burn. It tingled slightly as began cleaning the area, the sting from the injury intensifying slightly due to the pressure.
Focused on the task, Ghent didn’t spare Elayra another glance, but he kept an ear out for any indication of trouble.