Elayra glanced away from Drust at Ghent’s response to her question. A look that said, ‘Good, because I’m going to kill you later,’ crossed her face. But the expression softened as she took in Ghent’s pallor.
	She knew all too well what it felt like to be at Drust’s mercy. Only she had the luxury of knowing her life wasn’t in danger from him.
	Torn between glad and shocked that Ghent had the sense to keep his mouth shut beyond his answer, Elayra took his lead. She slowly lowered her sword and went to her own pack, collecting her cloak from the ground as she passed it. She hesitated by her pack, glancing between her stuff and Drust.
	Drust looked upward toward the canopy and ran a hand down his face. He took another deep breath and held it. He closed his eyes and his shoulders relaxed slightly as he exhaled. Opening his eyes, he reached for his katana. Keeping his movements reassuringly slow, he slung the katana’s sheath over his back and tightened its strap.
	Hesitantly, Elayra sheathed her sword at her belt. Holding the cloak in front of her with both hands, she sought out a crease at its back near the shoulder. She pulled the crease apart, two sides of a hidden slit kept together by snaps. She quickly did the same with another on the opposite side. 
	Elayra put the cloak back on, knelt down, and slipped the straps of her pack around her shoulders through the slits.
	His own pack shouldered, Drust stood and adjusted it so its presence wouldn’t hinder drawing his katana. Muscles still tense, he reached into his belt pouch and retrieved the OmniChrono. 
	“Smaya’s kept her promise,” he growled, his voice low.
	Elayra looked to him and dared a quiet sigh of relief. Though the black lines still pulsed at the corners of his eyes, they had grown less severe, and the shadow of the Curse’s undertone had abated from his voice.
	“The fog.” He jerked his head toward the wall of mist creeping at the treeline. “It confuses the spirits.” He popped the lid of the Chrono open. “They won’t disturb us. If we don’t disturb them.”
	Drust examined the Chrono, then nodded to his left. He stepped to the treeline. He stopped, still in the safety of the clearing, waiting for the teens. A tendril of fog licking at the ground curled around his feet hungrily, impatient for him to fully enter its embrace.
	Elayra looked to Drust and swallowed. The idea of going into the forest so soon after narrowly avoiding a Curse flair-up made her uneasy. But he wasn’t exactly giving them much of a choice.
	With a frustrated sigh, she turned to Ghent to make sure he’d readied himself, or see if he needed a hand.