“[i]Ditch them?[/i]” Elayra hissed, her tone and expression displaying how stupid of an idea she thought that was. Hiding them outside her quick reach was one thing, but abandoning them completely was another. “You’re daft! You have [i]no idea[/i] how hard good weapons are to come by! It’s not like we can waltz into a blacksmith’s shop and order new ones. Well, I suppose we [i]could,[/i] but we’d end up being attacked by a Forsaken blacksmith.”
	She lowered her stance when Ghent asked about something called a gun. She raised her brows at him. At least he finally seemed to be paying more attention to their surroundings. “The word sounds familiar. But no.”
	At Ghent’s suggestion of them waiting and Drust understanding, Elayra gave a single, snorted laugh as she sheathed her sword, the weapon clicking into place violently. “Why don’t you ask the Sorceress that once her beasts catch us because we weren’t gone before they had time to get to Hollow Hill?”
	She gave a smug smile when he agreed to her keeping her weapons, but the expression did not last long. Once Ghent finished, he stared at him a long moment, scowling. Regrettably, he made a good point. This place was nothing like her world, and all she knew about it was what little she had seen, and Ghent had shared with Drust and her. Which meant he would likely know better than her how to best wrestle with the cops and get past them to the portal. Even if doing that without weapons was a foreign, neigh inconceivable idea to her.
	Elayra let out a growled sigh, her eyes narrowed in frustration. “You’re right,” she conceded in a hiss as if the words themselves were painful to say. “But I am [i]not[/i] leaving my weapons behind!”
	She strode to the nearest building's wall, her steps heavy against the pavement and the short heel on her boots making splashing clicks. With her platinum hair now sticking to her face from its wetness, and raindrops running annoyingly down her scalp, she quickly re-summoned her rain guard, then leaned her bow against the wall. Without the irritant of the rain, she shrugged out of her pack, which managed to remain a bit dryer than her, placed it at her feet, and undid the buckles keeping the flap of the main compartment in place.
	With it open, she gripped her bow and grudgingly fed it into the pack. Though the depth of the pack was far shorter than the length of the bow, the weapon impossibly disappeared inside. Once it was put away, she proceeded to unhook her sword and quiver from her belt, and repeated the process, carefully placing them inside before refastening the front flap.
	Straightening, she tested the weight of the pack, which had grown with the addition of the weapons. She slung the pack back over her shoulders, doing her best to prevent irritating the ill-placed bruise, then took her time unhooking her dagger. Once it was freed, she bent down to place it her boot, where she could still hopefully have semi-quick access to it should the need for it arise.
	Feeling rather naked and vulnerable without her arsenal in quick reach, she turned back to Ghent and crossed her arms heavily, her gaze and expression dark.
	“Happy now?” she spat. “We’ve wasted enough time.” She jerked her head down the street with a motion worthy of an irate Drust.