Arla nodded and smiled her thanks to Frieda. She let out a slow, steady exhale. With her goal accomplished, she finally let herself relax. She wouldn’t be leaving. Even if those… [i]things[/i] were still after her, she’d be hidden amidst a crowd. And hopefully, even if they [i]did[/i] get close, the smells of this place would put their senses on overload. They’d never be capable of telling she’d actually left with the circus.
	She looked to her lap, a faint smile on her lips at her victory. A victory against both them and her parents. She ran her hands through her hair, knocking loose some dust and bits of rubble she’d missed before.
	She scowled. [i]Next order of business: find a shower.[/i]
	She looked back up to the ringmistress, trying to think of something to say to fill the short silence, to express her gratitude. But Frieda’s gaze had shifted behind her. Panic threatened at her chest for a split second before the woman smiled. Though the expression wasn’t aimed at her, Arla still felt a sense of reassuring calm from it.
	Frieda was commanding, yes, but something about her seemed unusually kind. She had, after all, welcomed a girl who probably looked more like a hobo than anything. She’d offered sanctuary without even asking why Arla needed it.
	Before she could turn to see who had grabbed the woman’s attention, a teenage boy stepped in front of her.
	She blinked as she recognized the boy Frieda had summoned. The knife thrower. And possibly one of the only people in the acts who had looked even remotely around her age.
	“The Reaper,” she confirmed at the ringmistress’ introduction. A grin pulled at her lips at the concept of him being her guide for the night. Taking Frieda’s lead, Arla got to her feet. She swayed slightly, her mind a half step behind her actions, but managed to keep her balance.
	[i]Geeze, allergies suck.[/i]
	Taking the opportunity at being closer to him than she had been as an audience member, she looked Rayth over. Like the others in the afterparty, he hadn’t changed out of his performance outfit. If you could really call black pants a full-on outfit. Her gaze traced the lines of the tribal tattoo covering half of his bare, tan torso, wondering if it was real or temporary. He even still wore his contacts. His red eyes caught in the lighting, their vibrancy distorted by the colored lights.
	Despite his youth, something about him felt… older. Whether it was how he held himself or something in his gaze, she couldn’t say, but the aura about him hinted that he had seen and experienced more than what his appearance let on.
	She glanced to Frieda when the woman introduced her. “Hey,” Arla offered Rayth with a quick, two-fingered wave, realizing the boy had been looking her over as she had him.
	She shrugged at Rayth’s raised eyebrows, then returned his smile in kind. At least he seemed more than happy to help her out, as the ringmistress had.
	Her expression widened at the excitement betrayed in his voice. It was rather contagious.
	“Train? Like an actual railroad train?” Her face lit up at the thought. She’d only ever ridden a train once, in grade school. Sadly, she could barely remember it. The memory hung on in little more than disjointed images blurred from time.
	“I didn’t know circuses still used trains,” she finished as she bent to pick up her backpack. “Lead the way!” She shouldered her bag, eager to get away from the incense, and hopefully find a shower.
	At this point, she’d be content with just a hose as long as it spouted water.