Elayra’s suspicion only grew when Ghent answered a little [i]too[/i] quickly.
Her brows rose as he continued, his answer less than reassuring.
	“[i]Seriously?[i] How long does it take you to change?” She rolled her eyes with a small shake of her head. Her expression turned into a scowl at his last order. “I’m not your personal bandersnatch, Featherhead!”
	All the same, she turned from his hiding spot and returned to their backpacks. She shoved the tip of her saber back into the ground with a bit of extra irritation-fueled force.
	“If you’re going to take all afternoon, I’m changing.” She knelt down beside her pack and opened it. She pulled out a plain set of grayish pants that had once been black, and a thin, long-sleeved off-white shirt.
	Elayra wrong out her hair as well as she could, then changed out quickly, tossing her wet clothes to the ground. She shivered as the warmth of the dry garments replaced the chill of the river-laden ones. She hadn’t realized how cold the water had made her.
	She rubbed her hands together for the extra warmth, then secured the sheath of her newly acquired stiletto into her replacement pair of boots. She looked longingly to her discarded shoes, the now useless sheath of her blue-bladed dagger hidden inside. 
	She snatched the boot from the ground and pulled out the sheath. Anger at the simple loss heated her chest. She posed to throw its small scabbard in the water after the dagger, but she hesitated. With a huff, she instead tossed it into her backpack. 
	 She glanced to the sopping mess of her water-logged clothes, then to her current mostly clean shirt. She sighed heavily. The color wasn’t exactly the best for blending in with the woods.
	She cast a glance to Ghent’s chosen tree, then plunged her arm back into her pack.