Without waiting for Ghent's response, Elayra plunged her arm back into the bag.	Her movements were jerky, heated, as she tried to recall what Drust’s spare daggers looked like to call one to her from the pack’s depths. She [i]thought[/i] he had a stiletto, but she wasn’t entirely sure if it had been his, or borrowed.
	Her search and thoughts stopped at Ghent’s complaints. A Drust-worthy sneer curled over her lips as she glowered up at him. 
	“Would you rather just stand around in your damp underwear?” she snapped. “They need to dry. We can’t leave them behind, but they’ll make everything else in your pack wet.” Her hand closed in a fist inside Drust’s bag. Instead of grasping air, she recognized the shape of a hilt against her palm. “So shut up,” she pulled it out and pointed the sheathed tip of the dagger she'd found threateningly at Ghent, “and figure it out.”
	She slapped the top flap of Drust’s bag shut. She looked to the [url=https://i.imgur.com/I8iqGke.jpg?1]stiletto dagger[/url] as she slid the blade from its thin metal and leather scabbard, examining it with a critical eye.
	It was nice enough, she supposed. The silvery metal turned the hilt into a spiral, ending in a small, elegant round pummel. Its blade’s length matched what she’d grown accustomed to, only significantly thinner. Its edges glinted in the sunlight, sharp enough for use, but, in Elayra’s eye, it was due for a date with a whetstone. 
	She tested its weight in her hand. Even with its entire metal construction, it felt lighter than her lost weapon. It felt… wrong. Like she was betraying her other dagger. Betraying the trust of who it once belonged to. More importantly, betrayed Drust by losing it.
	Her lips tightened and she gripped the hilt and scabbard harder. It shouldn’t matter this much to her. Not like this, at any rate. And yet, it did.
	Until the moment Ghent had confirmed the news, Elayra hadn’t realized exactly how much she cared where the dagger had come from. Or, perhaps, it was the when. A right of passage of knowing Drust trusted her enough to pass on such a fine, meaningful weapon to her. It felt as if she'd lost some small part of herself.
	With a growling huff at her unwanted emotions, she threw the stiletto toward the first-aid box. The force embedded over half its blade into the earth an inch from the box. Right where she’d aimed. At least its balance was decent enough for throwing.