In the same time it took for Ghent to so much as think the word, to vaguely contemplate calling upon the world’s magic, it swelled around him, feeling lazily interested. When the boy’s emotions surged through it, feeding it, it strengthened, reacting in as equally of a reckless panic as its commander.
	“NO!” Drust shouted as the first syllable of the focus word left Ghent’s lips. The black veins in and around his crimson eyes pulsated as he lunged to clasp a hand over Ghent’s mouth before the magic could take to the careless demand.
	Alas, he was not quick enough.
	A burst of energy radiated from Ghent. The backlash of the gale-like rush made the boy’s hair and hood whip around his head as it erupted, unguided, from him in all directions.
	All at once, the force blew through the face of condensed dust motes, scattering them to the winds with a bassy [i]whoomp[/i]. It slammed into Drust, his hand centimeters from Ghent, throwing him back. It made Elayra shout as it knocked her from her feet as well and sent her twisting through the air in the opposite direction as Drust.
	Elayra landed on her stomach a handful of yards away, narrowly missing a patch of vine-choked bramble, the wind knocked from her. Drust’s flight came to an abrupt end as his back hit an oak tree with enough force to make it shudder. He slid down the tree with a moan, slumping forward as he reached the ground.
	As quickly as it had risen, the gale dissipated. For a short, tense second, a silence more eerie than its naturally unnatural quiet befell the forest.
	Then, came the whispers.
	Dozens of disembodied voices rose among the trees, as if the plants themselves had discovered the secret to speech. Echoic whispers of men and women alike. Whispers that spoke only a single word in an uncoordinated loop in a mix of horror, shock, and intrigue:
	[i]“Vinifcium!”[/i]
	As suddenly as they had begun, the voices cut off. It was as if someone had slammed a door shut on a soundproof room brimming with people. In its wake, the silence was defining. 
	“You…” Elayra breathed, managing to catch her breath as she propped herself up. “You dunderheaded, imbecilic moron!” she finished her redundant insult as she got to her feet.
	She swiveled on her heels to face Ghent, fear and fury warring for dominance in her gray eyes. Her hair stood at odd, windblown angles. Dirt and leaves Ghent’s magic gale had stirred up speckled the platinum locks, making her look more like a dirty blond who had just gone skydiving than a fearless warrior princess.
	Her gaze flicked from Ghent. Her grip tightened on the hilt of her saber as she searched for Drust, her fury momentarily diminishing into worry. She inhaled through her nose as she spotted her guardian, unmoving, against the base of a tree.
	“Drust!” She took a couple frantic running steps toward him, for the moment forgetting about Ghent.
	She slid to a stop near Ghent as Drust slowly stirred in his unconsciousness. For a short moment, relief flooded through her; he was alive. But that relief was short-lived. Her skin went two shades paler as realization of the situation dawned on her.
	Drust had been knocked unconscious. By magic. In [i]Hollow Forest[/i].