Elayra closed her eyes for a short moment at Ghent’s first comment on the voices, the set of regret-filled words she had heard running through her head: [i]“Take care of her, Drust.”[/i]
	If nothing else, she was certainly uncertain that it had belonged to her mother. She could think of no one else it could have been, no one else who would address the Knight, but if she had known the voice once, it was one long forgotten now. Had that been the last thing she had heard her mother say? A last request caught so tightly in the magic web of the world that it played even through the portals?
	Her hands clenched into fists. It would do her no good to dwell on it. It was a voice that created one more memory to shove into a dusty corner to be forgotten. A voice from the past, the ghost of an echo that should have been left to rot. All that truly remained of her mother was the heavy shadow of the White Queen that Elayra was forced to walk in, a shadow darkened by the Red Sorceress. Nothing more.
	When what Drust said fully sank in, her attention snapped up to him. They could also be from the [i]future.[/i] She glanced to Ghent as discretely as he could, worry in her eyes.
	Another had addressed a ‘little boy lost.’ Could that have been referring to [i]him?[/i]
	Ghent’s nervous laugh made her focus more on his words. He, too, seemed perturbed by something he had heard.
	“It was probably Curse-riddled magic trying to mess with us,” she spat, hoping to convince herself of it just as much as trying to encourage Ghent’s idea of the voices meaning nothing.
	Drust sighed heavily, a sigh she knew well; she had the wrong theory.
	“The magic of the portals exists on a slightly different level. Neither [i]she[/i] nor her Curse would have control over what you heard. Regardless of her power.”
	Elayra frowned at Drust’s bubble-bursting abilities. “Great. Thanks.”
	Drust’s neck twitched slightly as he glared back at her tone, but he said nothing. He looked forward once more.
	The further they got from Hollow Hill, the more the feel of magic shifted. It grew less welcoming, drawing away from Ghent, but never fully leaving him. It lurked just outside his senses, there but not there. Long before it faded for Ghent, its almost electric feel completely vanished for Elayra and Drust, strangled out for them by the Curse.
	Cracked cobblestones began to replace the overgrown dirt path. As they rounded a bend, the vines and roots at last gave up their fight with the weathered cobblestones, and the gateway came into view.
	Flanked by two final hills covered in bushy vegetation, vines twirled their way up its stone pillars and draped down from the archway. Their ends swayed in a gentle breeze. Even from their distance, Elayra could make out the red stone heart at the crest of the subtly pointed arch. It had fallen stationary, its weak, magical pulse snuffed out with the portal. On this side of the gate, two more statues sat on either side of the path. Both once of a heart sitting upon a pillar, one had begun to crumble, leaving only half a heart. A blanket of moss caked the other, making its shape nearly unrecognizable.
	Elayra stepped slightly to the side to better see around Drust.
	“Do you remember this place?” Elayra asked, eagerly changing the subject. She cast Ghent a quick glance, wondering if he, too, retained any memory of the first time they had come through here.