At Ghent’s irritated mutterings, Drust shot the boy a glare that would have frozen the heart of even the bravest of warriors. A scowl pulled warningly at his lips, another twitch accentuating the action.
	Elayra, ever tense, gave Ghent her own dark look, silently demanding him to keep his mouth shut. The threat to shut it for him lowered her chin as she tapped the hilt of her sword. Healing concussion or not, she was certain she could still run circles around Ghent. The idea of tying him up and shoving a gag in his mouth tempted her.
	She raised an eyebrow at who Ghent compared the Cat to. “Who?” she asked, curiosity shining through despite herself.
	“An Earth myth,” Drust snapped, an unnerving icy edge in his voice. What composure he had managed to maintained so far was threatening to slip away.
	Drust’s scowl darkened and Elayra rolled her eyes when Ghent shouted at the fire’s noise.
	The man’s lips tightened when Ghent voiced his preferences, but said nothing. Instead, he closed his eyes, taking slow, deliberate breaths. His fingers curled then uncurled when the boy spoke again.
	“[i]You’re[/i] the one who asked the questions, Featherhead,” Elayra gave the back of Ghent’s hood a snarky glower. 
	Drust’s neck twitched and he grit his teeth when Ghent finished talking.
	A glance to Drust made Elayra bite back the taunt tickling the tip of her tongue. His struggle to keep control over the Curse strained his face. The last thing she needed was him snapping again while Ghent was in the Betwixt.
	Drust snorted, making Elayra flinch.
	“Send the Guardian our deepest gratitude for summoning a tichari,” he growled without opening his eyes. “Her kindness is not something to be taken lightly.”
	When Ghent finally went quiet to focus on the undertaken task he had so humbly announced, Elayra breathed a sigh of relief. A bit of silence, a reprieve from Ghent’s voice was well overdo. And would hopefully help her guardian win his own personal battle.
	For the time being, at least.

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	As Ghent focused, as it had before, the world shifted around him. The crackle of the fire faded into an eerie silence. The chill of being away from the warmth of the fire diminished, leaving him in a comfortable state somewhere between warm and cold. Gray tendrils ghosted around him, filtering in and swirling like fog as it consumed the physical world.
	But unlike before, the tortured emotions of Hollow Forest remained at bay. The cries and moans of the tormented souls hissed in little more than distant whispers. Paralysis did not take hold, leaving him to move as he pleased.
	Instead of remaining within that gray, churning world as with his first visit, the fog dissipated as quickly as it had come. As it lifted, the gentle rush of a waterfall filled his ears. Grass softer than the leaves of lamb’s ears sprouted up beneath and around him. The bright moonlight turned the layer of dew drenching the lush blades into glittering jewels. 
	A clearing thrice the size of the one Ghent left behind in the physical world stretched around him. Thick trees surrounded the area, their trunks brushing their brothers, leaving no gaps. Their branches entangled with one another, creating an impenetrable barrier that left the center of the clearing open to the sky.
	Above him, the stars twinkled and danced. They swirled impossibly about their inky domain, forming different constellations on a whim. Unlike the jubilant specks, the silvery light of the unnaturally large and bright full moon felt sad. As if it, too, wished it could move as freely as its sisters, but could only sit and watch, stationary. Eternally incapable of scratching the itch to dance and play.
	Nevertheless, the light glistened off an equally impossible waterfall. A stack of rocks sprouted straight up from the ground a handful of yards opposite Ghent. Water came from nowhere and went nowhere. It cascaded down the gray, moon-bleached stones. Specks of mica sparkled brilliantly within the rock, making them look as if they housed diamonds. The rushing stream fell into a large pool, creating ripples and spraying a fine layer of cool mist about the banks. Though it lacked a visible outlet, the water level never rose. 
	A moment passed. And then another. Save for the gurgle of the waterfall, the clearing remained silent. Deserted. Its soul inhabitant looked out of place. A living boy dressed in the drab apparel of a world far different from Wonderland. Even so, the unexpected peace of the area would not deny Ghent it’s sanctuary. 
	“Lovely, is it not?” a melancholy voice asked from behind him, breaking the relative quiet with her strong, yet soft voice.
	Smaya stood mere inches from him. The aura of sorrow and regret that lurked around her seemed to sooth the moon’s glow. Unlike the rest of the Betwixt, the moonlight did not drench her of her color, as if even it took pity on the anguish she felt.
	Completely solid, she stood in all her sorrowful, ethereal beauty. She clasped her hands daintily behind her back. Her emerald gaze with all their dark, harrowing secrets focused on the waterfall. 
	She closed her eyes and inhaled the fresh, damp scent of flowing water and wet earth. “Welcome back, young Madrail.”