Elayra’s shoulders sank with a sigh of relief at Ghent’s reassurance he had not used magic. One less thing she had to worry about. For the span of a breath, a shocked awe returned to her face at the impossible thought Ghent had subdued Drust [i]without[/i] magic.
	[i]Maybe he’s not so useless after—[/i]
	[b]“Margen did.”[/b]
	She blinked at him, confused. She opened her mouth to ask who Margen was, but quickly put it together. Her awe was replaced with a disappointed frown.
	[i]So much for that.[/i] Her gaze shifted to Drust, the gentle, steady movement of his chest just visible in the light of the cloud beneath him. She nodded as everything finally fully fit into place.
	“Sleeping mist,” she muttered. A mild magic even the Knight could shake off once broken.
	She glanced to Ghent when he spoke. “Smarter than you look, Featherhead,” she growled at his prediction.
	She pulled her other leg in and tried to stand, Ghent’s sigh sounding in her ear. She inhaled through her teeth when the shift in weight at fighting against gravity sent a spark of pain down her back and made her head throb harder. She fell back the few inches she had managed to rise. She leaned back against the tree trunk, glowering out into the forest night. 
	Elayra closed her eyes for just a moment as Ghent spoke again, her teeth clenched. She opened her eyes and looked to the hand he offered.
	“Since when do you know how to take initiative?” She tried to offer a small grin, but it came more as a grimace. Without waiting for an answer, she grudgingly reached out with her better arm and gripped his offered wrist instead of hand for a more secure hold.