Drust snorted, his mouth twisting upward disdainfully at Ghent’s tone. Still, he nodded. At least the boy had enough sense to not argue the matter.
	Elayra’s smile only tightened jubilantly when Ghent turned fully to her, his voice quiet, enjoying how much of a rile she had gotten from him. It almost made being called Blondie worth it. Behind her, Drust scowled in anticipation of the inevitable argument between them.
	She let out a snorted, “Ha!” when Ghent finished. “You can’t even pronounce ‘Holeland’ right.” She crossed her arms in satisfaction. “Featherhead [i]does[/i] fit perfectly. If you’d [i]really[/i] rather, I could call you Ding—”
	“Enough!” Drust growled, swiping a hand through the air beside him.
	Instinctively, Elayra jumped and spun to face Drust. She moved away from him and raised a hand to push Ghent with her and keep him from harm’s way if he did not do so himself.
	Drust’s neck twitched. His gaze bore into both of them angrily. “You’re wasting time and energy. Even if the spirits are in a good mood, we’ll already be spending a night in Hollow Forest. Let’s not make it two.”
	Elayra inhaled at the news. “But what about the Twisted Forest? We could reach it’s bounds just after nightfall if we—”
	 “That’d add at least two days of travel,” he snapped. “More, depending on his,” he jerked his head toward Ghent, “stamina.”
	Elayra stiffened, the lines webbing out from his pupils pulsing over his sickly tinted eyes. She squared her jaw, taking half a second to weight the pros and cons of objecting. The pros won out. “It’s not a smart move, Drust! It isn’t worth—”
	He snarled, and his neck cracked with its next twitch. He closed the little space between him and Elayra with scarcely half a step. The veined red of his irises threatened to color his pupils, their black pulsating as he fought against the Curse.
	She inhaled and moved a foot back, strengthening her stance. Without time to draw her sword, she raised one arm defensively and extended the other, pressing its palm against Drust to keep him at arm’s length.
	He gripped her wrist tightly and forced her hand to the side. With a tug on her arm, he made her stumble forward so their faces were inches away, his towering over hers.
	She reached to draw her dagger to warn him away. She scowled down at her belt when its absence reminded her of its hiding spot in her boot. 
	He gripped the sides of her jaw with his free hand and forced her to look up at him. “Do. [i]Not[/i]. Test. Me, Elayra,” he said through his teeth, his voice dangerously low, a gravelly undertone threatening at its edges.
	Elayra’s heart pounded in her chest, but she wiped her face of any fear or uncertainty. They locked gazes for a few second that felt like minutes. Her gray eyes were hard, silently pleading for Drust to win out, for the veined red that had consumed over half his pupils to let up. She scarcely dared to breathe.
	Drust’s gaze flicked toward the newest healing scar at her chin. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. His grip tightened slightly on her wrist before he released her, turned so his back to the teens, and stepped to the side of the path.
	Elayra’s shoulders sunk with a silent sigh of relief as Drust pinched the bridge of his nose, taking slow, deep breaths.
	“Listen closely, Ghent,” Drust began without looking over, his voice strained and clipped. “No matter what you see, hear, or feel in these woods, do [i]not[/i] wander. Stay close. Stop [i]only[/i] when we stop with you. We follow the rising sun south.” He jerked his head toward the opening, indicating for them to go ahead of him.
	“Come on, Ghent.” Resisting the urge to rub her wrist, she reached for Ghent’s arm to pull him toward where the end of the broken cobblestones turned into the vine-choked forest floor. Where the relative safety of Harrow Hollow Hill turned into Hollow Forest.