Margen gave a proud yip at Ghent’s compliment, its electrically fuzzy chest puffing with pride. The fox watched Ghent and Elayra interact, returning Ghent’s stare.
	Elayra looked at Ghent quizzically at his reference to Jenga. With a slight shake of her head, she focused back on the pack. She opened one of the smaller pouches at its front and pulled out a small box with a flame shape burned onto its scorched lid. The blueish light of the orbs made the bits of white wood visible between burned patches appear to glow.
	She scowled at Ghent and his question about tying up Drust. She glanced to her guardian, who still slumbered peacefully on the lush grass beneath him. At least [i]one[/i] of them was getting some sleep. She almost envied him, her eyelids heavy and body begging for rest.
	“He should be fine here,” she answered uncertainly. “But I have some rope in…” She trailed off when she noticed Ghent’s work with the wood. “[i]Seriously,[/i] Featherhead? Have you [i]never[/i] gone camping?”
	She abandoned Drust’s pack and stepped to the firepit, interrupting Ghent’s work. She placed the small box on the ground, then quickly spaced out Ghent’s Jenga mess, creating a cross-work of logs with a gap in the center.
	With a content snort at Elayra’s intervention, Margen stood and trotted toward the edge of the clearing. He stopped and looked around at the sound of his name. He let out a conflicted whine at Ghent’s request. His ears shifted back and his tail lowered fractionally as he glanced between the woods and Ghent.
	The fox suddenly perked up with a bark that sounded like a canine’s version of an “Ah ha!” Margen padded to the large log Ghent had set aside and tapped his nose to its bark.
	A wave of electric blue rippled over the wood, then condensed at one end. It glowed for a fraction of a second before blue and white mist burst from the tip, surrounding it in a glittering haze. 
	Margen gave a satisfied nod and whining snort. He tapped Ghent’s hand with his nose in a farewell, sending a gentle, almost pleasant tingle over the boy’s skin. The fox bowed his head to his paws toward Elayra, then turned and disappeared into the night.
	Elayra’s face twisted in a snarl as Ghent finished voicing his concerns. “I trust [i]him[/i] more than I trust [i]you[/i]!” she growled, too drained to even consider stopping her emotions and words from colliding into a massive ball of frustrated mush. “At least he’s not a frightened, whiny toddler who can’t even stack wood for a fire!”
	Drust stirred at her volume, shifting and groaning as the sleeping mist wore off.
	Despite her defense of the man, Elayra shut her mouth and flinched away, a hand moving to her sword’s hilt. 
	“Get the rope from my pack,” she snapped, her words clipped angrily. She spared Ghent little more than a glance. “Think about what you want from it, and it’ll make it easier to find. You [i]do[/i] know what rope looks like, right?” she added with a disdainful snort. “Course, braided strands?”