Drust held his sheathed katana vertically in front of him, its tip against the floor, as Elayra dabbed a couple drops of a milky liquid from the neck of a jar on a cleaner part of her skirts.
 	She gently ran the damp fabric over the scrapes. Within moments, the worst of them stopped bleeding, leaving red scratches, while the least severe of them all but completely faded. She watched the familiar effects as they finished their job. It had been a while since she had used it on something as simple as a scrape, and had forgotten how quickly it worked on such minor wounds.
	“I’ll take first watch,” Drust offered as Elayra replaced the bottle snugly in the box. “Rest, if you wish.”
	Elayra gave a thankful nod and pulled her sleeves down back over her arms. “If you’re sure.” She put the lid back on the box and handed it to Drust.
	“Quite.” He took the box and returned it to his pack, one hand keeping his sword in place. 
	“Wake me if you need me. But do me a favor: try not to need me.”
	Drust smirked, not looking from the direction of the door as she stretched out so she lay on the floor with her back against the wall. She adjusted the pack beneath her head, and used it as a lumpy pillow.
	She gave a content groan about at last being capable of resting her entire body, and closed her eyes. With Drust’s familiar presence beside her in this foreign land, she dared let herself drift off into a sweet, light sleep.
	Drust’s gaze shifted from the door to the rusting, neglected equipment hanging from hooks. A few of the spiders had dared return to their webs, one on a rake near him continuing its work of wrapping up a struggling fly. His head turned to Elayra, watching as the rise and fall of her chest quickly took on the steady rhythm of slumber. After a moment, he quietly leaned his sword against the wall beside him, and reached once more into his larger pack, careful to not disturb the sleeping girl. 
	He removed a rolled-up wad of course fabric, and stood. Letting it unroll, revealing the form of a thick, worn cloak, he draped it over Elayra.
	She stirred slightly, but either realized there was no threat and fell back asleep, or did not wake up.
	Though it could have been a trick of the light, Drust’s eyes seemed to soften, the black lines growing faintly thinner. But it lasted only a moment. His neck twitched, and he turned from her. Quietly, he strapped his katana to his back, and went outside, closing the door softly behind him.
	He blinked slowly in the darkness, his eyes adjusting to the difference in lighting far quicker than average. The cool night air held the familiar crisp, earthy smell of the trees near them, yet the stink of exhaust and other pollutants he did not recognize wrapped around the pleasant scent in a strangling waft.
	He scanned the path toward the main road, the artificial lighting illuminating it a good distance from their hideout. Slowly, he drew his weapon as a precautionary measure, and headed around the back, giving the immediate perimeter a good check.
	By the time Ghent returned, Drust stood beside the rickety storage shack. Bathed in the shadow cast by the building, he looked like little more than a hidden statue, his hands resting on the end of his Katana and the tip of the blade digging an inch into the dirt at his feet.
	His head cocked to the side as the gentle sound of approaching footsteps reached his ears still a good few yards off. Careful to remain just out of sight of whoever—or [i]what[/i]ever—approached, he raised his katana, gripping it in both hands, and moved to look toward the sound.
	Even from this distance, he recognized Ghent from his form and gait, though it looked like he had since acquired a pack and carried something in either hand. 
	Drust remained where he was, watching the boy grow nearer. A displeased frown pulled at his face when he went unnoticed by Ghent, the boy's attention apparently locked on the shack.
	Inside, Elayra’s eyes snapped open at the squeak of the hinges. In an instant, she reached for and drew her saber, and jumped to her feet. She spared the cloak half a glance when it the floor as Ghent knocked on the door. Blinking as she tried to brush away the cobwebs that had already grown over he mind during her nap, she stood at the ready before she recognized Ghent’s voice.
	Slowly, she lowered her sword as he entered, and took in the strange tray he brought with him holding even stranger cups.
	Outside, Drust stepped directly behind Ghent. “You’ve failed to check your surroundings, boy,” he began darkly, pressing the tip of his katana against part of Ghent’s back not concealed by the backpack. “[i]Never[/i] let your guard down. Especially when you believe safety is near.”
	For a moment, Elayra held her breath, worried what he may do to prove the point, but with a swift, impressive movement, Drust sheathed his katana.