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

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