Elayra snorted and her brows rose in a silent, ‘Sounds about right.’ Her expression hardened as her muscles tightened in preparation for another attempt at standing. She used Ghent’s offered arm to help get herself on her feet as he, too, rose. She added her weight to his slowly to avoid pulling him down with her if he was not fully prepared.
	As soon as she was on her feet, she released his wrist. She fully straightened. Her head gave a fierce throb and the world spun around her for a second. Grinding her teeth, she reached out for Ghent’s shoulder to keep from stumbling back to the forest floor.
	She took a deep breath as the trees stopped wavering. Once again, she released him and tenderly prodded the back of her head. She winced when she found the beginnings of a bump forming beneath her hair.
	“Fine,” she growled to his question, unsure if her frustration stemmed more from being knocked out, having a lovely lump growing on her head, or that she had needed Ghent’s—[i]Ghent’s![/i]—aid.
	She glanced to Ghent, scowling at his next statement. “Oh, really?” she began, her voice thick with sarcasm. “I hadn’t noticed. Thanks for reminding me, Featherhead.” The expression deepened as the older boy continued. “I said [i]I’m fine![/i]” Alas, an unconvincing waver in her voice lessened the conviction she had wanted.
	She gasped and reached for her empty scabbard as a whining keen pierced the night. Anguished, echoing shouts of the fallen warriors weaving about the trees joined it in a crescendo of agonized despair.
	Ghostly forms wisped in and out of existence, flitting through the night. Yet, they did not venture as near as Elayra expected.
	Taking a steadying breath, she carefully went to her discarded sword and dagger. She replaced them in their sheaths. She heaved a deep breath, realizing exactly how naked she had felt without her trusty weapons at her side.
	In the lull in his duties, the tichari contented himself with digging through the vines and grass, pouncing on any shadow that moved. Margen looked up eagerly at the sound of his name, his milky eyes watching the boy expectantly.
	Using the light of the fox’s mist-bed, Elayra collected Drust’s pack as Ghent gave the tichari the thumbs-up. Holding it in her better hand and being careful to not throw herself off balance, she placed the pack on the unconscious man’s chest. The magic bed glittered a bit brighter for a second at the added weight, then returned to its gentler glow.
	The fox gave an excited crackling yip in understanding at Ghent’s gesture. It twirled around, its bushy tail leaving a swirl of crackling sparks in its wake. With little more than a quick glance to Elayra, the fox bounded ahead. Each step brought him a little higher into the air as if climbing an invisible staircase until it leveled out at the height of Ghent’s chest.
	The fox’s glowing form swayed lazily onward. Spirits lurking ahead of him rushed in streaking flashes to move out of his way, giving him, Elayra, and Ghent a wide berth. The bed of mist floated behind him, carrying Drust. Bushes and weeds bent out of the way of the fox’s magic only to spring back into place once the cloud passed.
	Elayra’s gaze lingered on Drust for a moment. She took a deep breath when Ghent followed after the tichari. She stepped beside Ghent and placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder to make him pause.
	“Thanks,” she muttered toward her shoes, not wanting to look him in the eye while admitting she had needed his help in more than just getting to her feet. “For… well. Stopping him,” she nodded toward Drust, “from putting my lights out. Sooner,” she added bitterly.
	“Don’t get me wrong. You’re still a spineless oaf,” she continued, ruining the awkwardly sentimental moment, “but I’d say that was a decent step in a good direction. Horrible stance aside.”
	She gave his shoulder a quick, firm pat then hurried to catch up with the tichari. She watched her feet, carefully picking her way around the blanket of vines draping over patches of the forest and hugging many of the trees. The tichari’s light turned their path into an eerie mix of shadow and blue-white light. She walked slower than normal, her feet still a bit unsteady even without the plant life to worry about.
	As they walked, Elayra listened to Ghent’s account of encountering the Betwixt. She interrupted only once with a shocked, “You met an [i]actual[/i] Guardian?”
	Despite Smaya’s promise to him, Elayra still could not help but flinch every time one of the spirits got too close. She even felt the negative emotions reduced around her, their nagging sensations less biting than before Ghent spoke with Smaya.
	The temperature dropped fast, the dead sucking even the warmth from the trees. Elayra shuddered, her breath beginning to leave her nose in puffs of fog.
	Thankfully, led by Margen, it did not take them long to at last find one of the coveted Safe Zones. Without the tichari, Elayra had the sinking suspicion their journey would have ended in Hollow Forest.
	The trees gave no indication of letting up, their trunks and the spirits seeming to go on forever with no reprieve. Then, she took another step after the electric fox, squeezing between two bushes that had parted for Drust.
	Without warning, the forest pulled out in front of her like stretching taffy. The darkness of the woods and Margen’s glow merged into one mass of bleeding color. As quickly as it had begun, everything snapped back into place like a rubber band breaking.
	The disorienting effect made Elayra gasp and stumble forward. She reached out for a tree—or Ghent, should he stand closer, balance intact—but missed. She fell to her knees at the edge of a clearing that had not been there a second before.
	[i]Forgot about that,[/i] she thought with a shake of her head. She glanced up at the sound of a startled, metallic yelp.
	A second tichari stared at the newcomers from the opposite side of the clearing. It watched them for a moment, its ears larger than Margen’s. Lowering its head, it dropped a stick it had carried in its mouth, tucked its tail between its legs, and dashed toward the trees. A trail of mist more white than blue left a short imprint of its sprightly form behind it.
	Margen let out a commanding bark as he trotted toward the smaller tichari. The other ghostly fox slid to a stop and turned its attention to its superior with a soft whine.
	The two shared a quick conversation of barks and grunts. The smaller whined again in protest, but the sound cut short when Margen gave another demanding bark.
	The second tichari let out a snort, glittering mist rising from its snout, but nodded. It bowed its head to its paws, then zipped off into the trees.
	Elayra glanced around the clearing, searching for any other unexpected guests. 
	No more than four yards in circumference, the circular clearing remained otherwise empty. A circle of stones surrounded a fire pit at the clearing’s center, its innards charred from long past use. A stack of wood and kindling waited a safe distance from the fire pit. The grass grew lush and short as if someone had come out with a lawn mower.
	Best of all, the gut-wrenching emotions of the forest had completely vanished the moment she crossed into the Safe Zone. Even the wails and screams of the ghosts sounded distant, their forms little more than oblivious, blurry wisps outside the small pocket of safety.
	Drust’s glowing bed floated closer toward the fire pit. It slowly parted down the middle, letting him drop to the ground. The Knight groaned and stirred, but did not wake.
	The remaining mist formed into four large balls of light. They hovered around Drust for a moment, then streaked upward toward the dome of leaves creating a canopy above them. They hung there, creating a connect-the-dot box. They glowed and pulsated with tiny, nerve-like lightning, illuminating the clearing with their eerie electric blue light.
	Margen turned toward Ghent, his head and tail held straight and proud. It let out a quick, content yip at its job well done and nodded toward the fire pit.
	Elayra glanced from the tichari, to his lights, to the pit. Understanding, she nodded her thanks to the fox then got slowly to her feet. With her pack still under Ghent’s supervision, she knelt cautiously by Drust.
	“Know how to stack wood for a fire?” she asked Ghent as she pulled the pack from Drust. She kept a wary eye on the man, unsure whether the tichari had undone its sleeping spell yet or not.