Though his apology fell on deaf ears, Elayra’s head twitched toward Ghent when he spoke again. She forced herself to take a slow breath, regretting that she had [i]not[/i] knocked him out when she had had the chance. At least then she would have had Drust’s help to carry him, instead of the other way around.
	She grit her teeth when Ghent continued, her hands clenching. “Don’t even finish that,” she growled, but it came too late: he finished. Her eye twitched irritably.
	As if it was contagious, Drust’s fingers twitched. 
	She could punch Ghent later. Right now, they had something worse to deal with.
	She spun around to face him, making her hair whip behind her. Face scrunched in an effort to keep her fear and panic from showing, she glared up at Ghent.
	“You have [i]no idea[/i] what you’ve just done!” she hissed through clenched teeth. “That little trick?” she swiped her sword to the side, pointing to where the phantom face had formed. “The worst it could have done was make your allergies act up for the next hour.”
	She sheathed her sword before the temptation to use it on him became too overwhelming, the blade sliding home with an angry click.
	“But Drust?” She turned her back to Ghent, and stepped cautiously toward her guardian, her gaze wary. She rested a hand back on the hilt of her sword, just in case. “If he wakes up here, there’s no way he’ll be in control. Not with this place’s whispers eating at him.”
	Though she would not admit it, she did not feel like she had another fight in her today. Not against Drust, at any rate. Between no sleep and a rough twenty-four hours, she would be running on fumes soon, if she was not already. The cruel powers of the forest only added one more stone after the other to the pit of her stomach. At this rate, there was no way they would get out of there. Not in one piece, at least.
	“We need to find a Safe Zone.” Elayra stopped beside Drust and knelt down.
	He sat awkwardly, propped up by his thick pack. Beneath it, his katana had twisted to the side, pulling its strap tight.
	“Before you ask,” she moved Drust enough to pry his pack from his back, “they’re small pockets protected from the spirits and emotions.” She quickly loosened the frogs keeping Drust’s katana attached to its back strap.
	Doing her best to keep her hands from shaking with the effort to keep the doomsaying emotions at bay, she shoved his katana into his pack. A couple things clinked inside the seemingly bottomless backpack, but she ignored it and closed it.
	She slipped out of her own pack, then tossed her smaller one toward Ghent. “See if you can shove yours,” she nodded to his scull-patterned backpack, “into mine. Lose it,” she threatened, replacing her pack with Drust’s on her back, which looked rather uncomfortable compared to her smaller size, “and I’ll run you through.”