Ghent’s face flushed. Elayra had the uncanny ability to make him feel like an idiot. He stared at the sheathed dagger being pointed at him, his expression darkening. 
	“Fine.” The response was bitter, clipped. He didn't want to spend another second in her company. Clutching the lengthily pants at his side, he stalked away from the girl, never looking back.
	Ghent’s footsteps became slower and more reluctant the closer he got to the woods. He looked around tentatively, staying alert for any indication of danger. He checked behind each tree and shrub as he passed it, his paranoia multiplying now that he was alone. He hated that he felt so vulnerable without Drust and Elayra nearby.
	Finding a spot he deemed suitable for changing out of his clothes, Ghent disappeared behind a collection of tightly packed trees. He hung Drust’s pants on a low hanging branch and started by removing his hoodie. The fabric was soaked and heavy from water, but Ghent barely noticed. He was too busy mulling over his latest fight with Elayra. 
	[i]Why did she make such a big deal out of it?[/i] Ghent shook his head, still baffled by her reaction. He tossed the hoodie aside, and it landed with a muffled thump. 
         Grumbling, Ghent grabbed the hem of his faded Batman t-shirt and worked to pull it over his head. His skin felt cold and clammy underneath, an uncomfortable sensation that made him miss the warmth of Drust’s cloak. He wrung out the shirt and hung it next to the pants, planning to put it on again before he rejoined with Elayra. He didn’t feel quite confident enough to be in her presence half-naked with nothing but ill-fitting trousers.
          His eyes trailed down to his torso, and he scowled. An ugly bruise resided where Drust had kicked him during their first of many fights.
	“They’ll kill me before the stupid queen does...” Ghent mumbled dejectedly. Realizing what he’d said, his hand shot up to his mouth. He hadn’t meant to insult their enemy out loud. 
	Ghent gulped. He looked over his shoulder, double-checking that his comment hadn’t summoned a shadowmire – or worse – [i]her.[/i]
	After a tense pause in which he barely breathed, Ghent exhaled. He peeled off his socks and sneakers, looking around as he did so. He added them to the pile before working on removing his clingy jeans.
	Ghent wrung out one pant leg, a few unsatisfying droplets of water dripping from the stubborn material. He tossed them aside and looked down at his boxers, hesitating. Before he had a chance to remove his last article of clothing, a realization dawned upon him.
	He could use magic.
	Ghent blinked, amazed at his inability to remember a gift so extraordinary. It was the obvious solution to his problem. It could become the solution to most of his problems once he learned more focus words.
	“It was Ignis-something…” Ghent folded his arms across his bare chest, thinking back to the campfire in the Safe Zone. He conjured fire once without trouble, he was fairly certain he could do it again. He mumbled a few words similar to the focus word until one sounded right. “…Igniculous.”  That was it. He’d bet his staff on it.
	Stepping over his pile of discarded clothing, Ghent eyed the trees for a branch thick enough to use as a torch. If all went according to his wild, harebrained scheme, his clothes would be dry before Drust got back.