Drust snorted at Ghent’s comment, but said nothing before turning his attention to scanning the alleyway, his katana gripped in both hands.
	Elayra smirked at Ghent’s question and took her dagger. “Your roads did more damage than those pathetic excuses for scouts.” She wiped the sinuous blade clean on the skirts of her dress before placing it back in its sheath.
	She looked to Drust as the man turned in a slow circle, still on guard, and her expression fell. “How many?”
	“Five, including these two,” Drust growled. 
	Elayra inhaled sharply and pushed from the wall, her blade held at the ready, if not lower than she would have liked. “Where’s the sixth?”
	As if in answer to the question, a last shadow, smaller than the others they had seen, flitted into the light of the street. It pooled there for a short moment, swirling mockingly as Drust rushed toward it, then darted off and disappeared beyond the other side of the street faster than any of them could follow.
	“No, no, no!” Elayra called after the shadow. She tried to follow Drust in pursuit, but her legs threatened to give out, making her knees bend as she reached to steady herself once more on the alleyway wall. They had had enough of running for one day.
	At the curb, Drust snarled and swung his katana angrily at the air, the shadow now long gone.
	“Drust!” Elayra looked up to him, the sound of his name making him turn his head toward her. “It’s gone. There’s nothing we can do.”
	Drust snarled. He looked back to the opposite side of the street, his chest heaving with a deep breath. He spun around, and huffed forward, making Elayra raise her sword. “We need to go. [i]Now.[/i]”
	“I know," she said as softly as she could, positive she would be little match against him now if he snapped again. “But it’s been a long day. Whether you feel it or not, we need rest. Otherwise, we won’t be capable of holding our own if the Queen sends anything after us now.” She eyed him warily, the effects of the Curse pulsating with more potency than she had seen it in years. “Would you grab my pack?”
	Drust glared at her.
	“Please.” She glanced toward Ghent. “I’d like a moment with him without our lives being threatened.”
	Drust’s head bent slightly and he gripped the bridge of his nose, his eyes closing. He gave a motion somewhere between a twitch and a nod, and hurried off toward the store room.
	Elayra exhaled, glad that enough of his raging emotions had been worked off on the shadowmire for him to regain some control. She turned to face Ghent.
	Should he speak, she raised her stained sword to try silencing him.
	“First off,” she took a slow step toward him, her gaze and tone hard, “we don’t control the portal. Once it’s open, it’s open. With the gate in the state it’s in, [i]anyone[/i] with enough willpower could get to them. Including [i]her[/i] shadowmire.
	“Secondly,” her chin raised slightly and countenance grew more severe, “if you value your life—or at [i]least[/i] not being in pain—you [i]do not[/i] want to antagonize Drust. He’s used to me, and I know how far he’ll go with me when the Curse flairs up. But you?” She snorted. “You’re a new component. A new stressor for the Curse in him to feed on. I have no way of knowing if he’d be capable of stopping himself before killing you. And trust me when I say an entire litter of shadowmire would be easier to take down on your own than him. Get [i]them[/i] angry, and they lose their senses. But with Drust, it’s not uncommon for him to become more tactful. Your best hope is to try to remind him of who he is or talk down whatever triggered the Curse, and just fend him off, not strengthen the fire with insults and rushing in for the attack. Do you understand?”