A few minutes in, Ghent leaned back to admire his woodpile. He was satisfied with his work, at least until Elayra chastised him.
	“What’s wrong with it?” he demanded, gesturing to the mini tower with both hands. “It's great! Even Margen thinks so,” he claimed, even though the fox made no implication of this.
	He sighed, watching as Elayra created spacing between the logs. He moved the top piece half an inch when she was done, just so he would be the last one to touch the pile. She would not get the credit for his masterpiece.
	"To answer your question, I have been camping. Plenty of times." He left out the fact that his dad did most of the work. Ghent had been too busy eating their s'mores supplies to pay attention to how a fire was started.
	Hearing Margen's bark, Ghent stopped adjusting Elayra's corrections and turned his head to see what their fuzzy companion was up to. He moved closer, fascinated by the fox's work. The lowly log was now a magical club.
	"Whoa, sweet!" Ghent liked this a lot better than the dagger Elayra let him borrow. He reached to take the non-glowy end, but Margen tapped his nose to his hand, surprising him. Ghent had avoided contact with the creature in the fear of being shocked, but he didn't feel any pain. He felt a small tingle go through his hand and up his arm, reminding him of the magic that had seemed to welcome him to Wonderland.
	"Thanks for everything, Margen." Ghent had just enough time to scratch him behind the ears. He had a bad feeling this was the fox's way of saying goodbye.
	His heart sank as his suspicions were confirmed. He watched the blue aura until it faded into the dangers of the dark. There went his only friend in Wonderland.
	Ghent didn’t have time to mourn the loss. He turned to glare at Elayra, his fraction of warm feelings toward her snuffed out like a candle’s flame. 
	"Seriously?! Two seconds ago, you were thanking me!" Ghent began to wish he had run off with Margen. His eyes went wide at the next insult, prompting him to rise to his feet. 
	The groan from Drust put their argument on hold. Ghent felt weak all over, his heartbeat picking up in speed. The Knight was waking up. 
	Yanking the pack from his shoulders, Ghent opened the flap and reached half his arm inside. His fingers brushed against something cool, possibly metal, and dozens of other things he didn’t have time to identify. 
	Silently, he begged the pack to operate. He did his best to concentrate on the rope and not the fact that Drust was probably plotting his revenge.
	Out of nowhere, the back of Ghent's hand knocked against something coiled and coarse. He grabbed it, a small sigh of relief passing through his lips. The rope. 
	"I got it!" he sounded out of breath as he tore the rope from the bag. He grabbed the log from the ground and leaped over the former Jenga tower to get to Elayra, narrowly missing the structure with the heel of his sneaker. 
	”Quick! Help me roll him over,” Ghent thrust the rope into Elayra's hands, his expression tight with worry. He raised the log halfway, reading the man for signs of being violent. “We'll hogtie him!"