Ghent's expression soured as Elayra reminded him of his most recent blunder. In is opinion, she was partially responsible for failing to prepare him for the 'trick' ghosts swooping in out of nowhere.
	"That was fifty percent winging it, fifty percent luck." With an aggravated groan, Ghent rubbed his pointer finger and thumb over his eyelids. His lack of training troubled him. Mistakes were becoming more and more common; it was a miracle he and Elayra were mostly unscathed by his last few endeavors. 
	"I need you to walk me through thi--" Ghent's mouth fell open. He staggered back with the help of Elayra, eyes wide and unblinking. Before them stood the largest figure of a ghost yet, one that appeared mortally wounded.
	Ghent couldn't think, he couldn't breathe. The dagger slipped from his clammy hand and pierced the earth, just as a blade may have pierced the man's body. The figure was doubled over, his pain evident in body language alone.
	When the apparition flickered out, Ghent hoped it would not return, but that was not the case. The howl from the deceased was unlike anything Ghent had ever heard in his life. The sound was laden with agonizing pain and suffering. Without meaning to, Ghent felt sympathy toward him and almost wished he could help, ghost or not.
	The feeling didn't last. The howl morphed into a laugh so sinister and horrifying, Ghent screamed and didn't stop until it was gone.
	A single leaf fell from a nearby tree. The forest fell quiet once more. Time was at a standstill, at least for Ghent. Face ashen, he slowly turned to face Elayra.
	"What. Was. [i]THAT?![/i]" Ghent's voice cracked. He knew darn well what it was, he just didn't want to believe it. It was the ghost of man slain in battle. Possibly one of the three from the story Elayra shared.
	Hugging himself as if he wore an invisible straitjacket, Ghent shook his head adamantly and paced, wishing to convince himself what he saw -- and heard -- was another trick. He wouldn't spend a night in Hollow Forest. He couldn't. 
	Amazingly, Elayra's words had enough power to stop him. Being skinned alive by ghosts was about the worst death Ghent could possibly imagine. At least in that moment.
	Trembling, he nodded once to show he understood. Without a word, he dropped down to sit beside the abandoned dagger. Legs folded in a pose better suited to meditate, Ghent shut his eyes. Unlike before, he didn't bother telling Elayra to turn around. An audience was the least of his concerns right now.
	Focus. That was the first step. Elayra told him to envision unlocking the gate earlier, and it worked. Hopeful that reaching the Spiritayum was similar, Ghent took a few deep breaths to help calm himself. 
	[i]If we reach the Safe Zone, we'll be alright. [/i]Ghent longed for anything even remotely protected. [i]If we don't, we'll die.[/i] 
	Ghent never released himself from the hug. His grip was so tight, he could feel the pressure of his nails through his hoodie. Calm down, focus, wing it. That was his plan.
	It was in Ghent's favor that he had a wild imagination. With no effort at all, his mind conjured up a hazy image of a small, somewhat transparent fox. The only benefit of seeing a ghost up close was that it took little effort to guess what the ghost of a fox would look like.
	Seconds turned into minutes. Ghent's body was tense and rigid to fight against his shaking. Dozens of thoughts flooded his mind, each with a fear tacked onto it. The fear fought for control, making his mission increasingly difficult.
	Ghent's brows furrowed. Simply imagining a tichari wasn't enough. He needed to communicate.
	[i]Hello?[/i] Ghent hated how uncertain he sounded in his thoughts. "Is anyone there?"