Elayra could feel his disbelieving gaze as they switched off. It felt like more and more of her willpower went toward not punching him. Or worse. She satisfied herself with a heavy scowl, and got busy. 
	Adjusting the pack slightly, she bent and picked up Drust’s legs.
	“Congratulations, Featherhead,” she grunted out to his comment as she draped one leg over each shoulder.
	She definitely had the lighter side, but the man was still nearly seven feet tall, and far from being lightweight. She stood carefully with Ghent.
	Gripping them just below the knee, she shifted the portion of his weight she bore as much to her left shoulder as she could. Though the right still throbbed slightly at the use, she was confident it would hold out until either they found a Safe Zone, or Drust woke up. She silently rooted for the former.
	With Drust’s middle sinking toward the ground, she did her best to time her steps with Ghent’s. She looked to the canopy of leaves above. Deciding the sun would set roughly behind her, she set their pace.
	She huffed a sigh through her nose as Ghent spoke again. She was not sure which was worse: the forest’s supernatural silence, or him talking.
	Curse or no curse, Drust was their greatest chance at fending off any physical foes. [i]Was.[/i] Because of Ghent. With their greatest fighter unconscious, the threat of the woods settled heavier over her.
	She grit her teeth as Ghent rambled on. “Shut it, Featherhead. Focus on finding one of the tichari. They won’t be easy to spot. Especially in the daylight.”

[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/MfJvMK1.png?1[/img][/center]

	Elayra’s words held true. The sun’s rays shone through the thick trees, turning the woods into a mottled patchwork of light and darkness. The vines choking the forest floor slithered about their feet. Flashes and swirls of inexplicable light bobbed and sailed through the shadows, there one second and winking out the next. Laughter and moans carried softly on the impossible breeze from voices that had long since lost their physical hosts.
	But no ghostly foxes appeared.
	As the day grew older, the phantom wind grew colder. Elayra became more and more on edge with each passing minute. The gentle throb of her shoulder slowly grew despite her efforts to keep most of Drust’s weight off it. But she had already given in to it once. She would [i]not[/i] let it win a second time, could not afford to let it hinder her.
	She refused to rest until Ghent absolutely needed it. Even then, she paced impatiently as well as the thickening forest allowed, clutching her saber's hilt like a lifeline.
	As the sun slowly began to sink, a pressure seeped into the atmosphere of the forest. The sensation of not being alone intensified. 
	The dead were beginning to gather for the encroaching night.
	At long last, Elayra called them to a halt. Nerves nearly at their wits end, she carefully sat Drust down on a patch of dormant vines. The moment she was free of his legs, she reached over and gripped her sword’s hilt. 
	The shadows beneath the trees rapidly grew darker, bleaching the lurid colors of the forest as if the spirits sucked the life out of the woods as they grew stronger. The faint whispers lurking just at the edge of consciousness rose in volume. The woods rustled around them with a new life, the flashes of light coming more frequently, yet still keeping their distance. For now, at least.
	Elayra swallowed hard. She gripped the hilt of her sword tighter and her empty hand clenched, trying to scare off their slight, fearful tremor by force.
	There was no way they could find a Safe Zone on their own before nightfall. Before the malevolent ghosts arrived. Before Drust woke up.
	“Listen up.” Elayra began, her voice tense and gruff in an effort to keep her growing terror from breaking through. Despite her attempts, her eyes betrayed her, her emotions raging in their depths. “If we can’t find a tichari and get to a Safe Zone, we’re in for a rough night.”
	Between them, Drust stirred, just visible in the crepuscular light creeping about the forest. His body stiffened, and his long fingers twitched into experimental fists, before relaxing again.
	Elayra clenched her teeth and, in the blink of an eye, drew her sword, her gaze on him. He had been doing that a lot this past hour. He could not be far from waking. She raised her sword defensively in front of her, gesturing for Ghent to step away, just in case.
	She snarled when that simple action made her overused shoulder pulsate angrily. The expression frozen on her face, she transferred the sword to her left hand. She bent down and swiftly drew her dagger from its hidden sheath in her boot. Swiveling it so its blade faced away from him, she stepped toward Ghent.
	“Take this.” She reluctantly held out its handle to Ghent. “Just [i]try[/i] not to hurt yourself with it, would you? And do [i]not[/i] strike to kill if you have to use it against him.” She jerked her head toward Drust. “Am I clear?” she finished threateningly.
	She would not release the dagger until she gained confirmation, her gray gaze boring into him with a silent, dangerous warning if he disobeyed.