Smaya’s head tilted gently to one side when Ghent shook his. A small, bitter-sweet smile pulled fleetingly at the corner of her lips. When the boy met her gaze, she blinked once, slowly. 
	She sighed, the melancholy sound reverberating unnaturally loud in the powdery quiet that settled around them in the Betwixt. “So young and naïve. How cruel the fates have been,” she finished through another sigh.
	“Yet, it is by fate you arrived here, young vinifcium,” she unhurriedly answered his uncertainty. “Fate and your own will and concentration. But I cannot lead you to a ‘Safe Zone,’” she said the phrase carefully, her lips quirking once more, “for I cannot reside long outside the Betwixt. But the tichari can.”
	She placed her thumb and pointer finger in her mouth and blew. A sweet, yet shrill whistle echoed around them, ringing even once she stopped. It faded slowly into the distance, lasting far longer than any natural whistle. 
	A flash of silvery blue burst into life a few yards behind her. It darted about, growing closer as it wove through the wisps of spirits. The tendrils coiled and danced away from the streak of sparkling electric mist, avoiding the light as it slunk and bounced about them playfully, full of life and energy.
	It floated to a stop near Smaya. The elements gathered around it in a wavering cloud, then settled, forming into a small fox the same silvery blue. It came to little more than a foot tall standing, the edges of its form soft, blurred. Its mist steamed from its body and poured from the end of its fluffy tail, leaving a ghostly afterimage of it as it swished behind the fox.
	Silver and blue sparks crackled on its fur as it strutted toward Smaya, then sat at her feet. The creature turned its glowing white eyes up to Smaya. Its large ears twitched in every direction, picking up sounds only it could hear. It let out a fizzing, inquisitive yip.
	Smaya bent and reached down to stroke the fox. Its fur crackled beneath her touch. “Deliver this young man,” she glanced to Ghent, and the fox did the same, “and his two companions safely to one of the Hollow Sanctums.” She straightened, still looking down at the fox. 
	The tichari sat straighter, and gave a short, birdlike yipping yowl in confirmation. It stood, turned to Ghent, and trotted over to him, leaving a short, glittering trail behind it as it moved.
	Smaya looked back to Ghent. “Return to your realm, and Margen will show you the way.”
	The fox stopped a safe distance from Ghent, staring up at him. Its head cocked to the side and it whined, pawing impatiently at the ground.
	Smaya returned her hands to their steepled position in front of her, her draping sleeves billowing with the movement. “I will do what I can to keep the forest’s trapped souls from harming you on your journey. But I cannot hold them back for long.”

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	Elayra grit her teeth and swallowed hard against her fear. “But the best [i]warrior[/i] you’ll ever meet,” she growled in response to Drust’s insult.
	Hoping the cloak still wrapped around him compromised enough of his balance, she did not give him time to respond. Swiftly, she wrapped her legs around him, gripped his arms at the elbow, and used all her strength to yank him to the side.
	Despite his resistance, he snarled as one of his arms buckled, making him lurch forward. Incapable of effectively adjusting himself fast enough, Drust’s full weight fell on her. The pain in her right shoulder flared, before she shifted him to the side and weaseled out from beneath the rest of him.
	Not bothering to try keeping him from rising, she scrambled on hands and knees to her saber. She gripped it, a scarce second of triumph blossoming in her at the security the weight of the weapon brought with it. She scrambled to her feet as Drust at last freed himself of the cloak, kicking it from his legs. 
	Elayra faced him, sword held defensively across her front. She spared Ghent's translucent form half a glance as Drust stood, his knees slightly bent. The boy's body glowed gently amidst the darkness, unmoving save for the subtle rise and fall of his chest. Silently pleading him to hurry up, she quickly returned her attention to Drust.
	Despite her slight advantage with a weapon, she tried to not allow the confidence it lent get in the way. She knew all too well what he could do even without a blade.
	 Drust glowered down at her. He bore his clenched teeth angrily, his stance teetering on the edge of feral. His neck twitched violently to one side.
	For second, she dared to hope it was a sign that enough of his true self remained to fight against the Curse. Alas, if it did, it was not enough; Drust's stance remained unwavering, ready for the attack.