Elayra’s heart sank the moment she realized the forest’s fate relied on Ghent. Ghent, huddled on the ground like a child cowering from his worst nightmares. Elayra growled her irritation, wanted to scream, to slap some sense into him.
	Drust’s neck twitched again. Impatience glinted in his eyes as the boy hesitated, covering his ears. But the rare sensation of the world’s magic swelling to meet the boy’s silent commands kept the Knight silent. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled at the magic's presence, instinct preparing him to be ready.
	He shot Elayra a warning glare when the girl stepped toward Ghent, her frustration—and even a tinge of fear—dusting her face. Catching her eye, he jerked his head, gesturing for her to back off as he stomped out the last of the flames on the pants.
	Knuckles further whitening from his tight grip on his sword, Drust backed off in the opposite direction as Ghent opened his eyes and extended his hands toward the rising flames.
	He cringed at Ghent’s stutter, the Curse turning the motion into a snarling a frown into a snarl. But at least the boy said it right, otherwise.
	Elayra held her breath. She took a few extra steps asway, glancing between Ghent, Drust, and the tree. If Ghent's attempt went wrong, Drust could easily get hurt in the crossfire.
	For the eternity of a heartbeat, the flames greedily continuing their feast. Yet, the aura of the magic pulsed around and through Ghent, the ancient force in no rush to obey this hasty, timid command.
	As if releasing a resigned sigh, the magic dispersed from the boy, riding the invisible wings of his vocal and mental command.
	Drust inhaled, sensing as it condensed around the flame of the torch. The fire on both it and the tree flickered. It changed to an enchanted shade of blue, their centers darkening to near black as the magic worked through Ghetn and took control of the element.
	Instead of petering out as they should have, the flames gave a crackling hiccup in echo of the boy's stutter, and pulled from the wood. Only singe marks remained behind as they merged together, hovering mid-air between tree and torch. With a flicker, they shot into the sky and burst into a single firework. 
	Elayra stared up with cautious awe at the colored sparks. They drifted down, fizzling out harmlessly before reaching the treetops. With the danger neutralized and the spectacle gone, anger flooded back through her with a vengence. Her furious scowl turned to Ghent.
	“How [i]stupid[/i] are you?” she shouted, guessing at what had caused the fire. She pointed the tip of her sword toward Ghent’s bare chest. “Change your clothes! That’s [i]all you had to—[/i]”
	“Silence!”
	Drust’s gravely voice sent a shiver down Elayra’s spine. Her grip on her sword tightened. She turned to her guardian, her animosity at Ghent shifting into survival mode. She moved to put herself better between Ghent and Drust, ready for a fight.
	Gaze firmly on the ground, Drust jammed the tip of his katana into the dirt beside him. Chest heaving, he went to one knee. His empty, free hand tangled in his messy dark hair, his fingers and wrist twitching, nails digging into his scalp.
	Elayra’s heart pounded in her throat. He was fighting. Fighting it harder than she’d seen in years. Without taking her eyes from Drust, she gestured for Ghent to go back to their packs.
	Taking a deep breath, she sheathed her sword, cursing herself for thinking things couldn’t get worse. This was [i]Wonderland[/i]. If there was one thing her home was good at, it was throwing new obstacles at them. Doing her best to push back the thought, she took a cautious step toward the Knight.
	“Drust—”
	He raised his gaze to her, snarling, the colors of the Curse nearly consuming his pupils.
	“Go,” he growled, voice strained, it's dangerous undertone wavering uncertainly. He pried his hand from his hair to point to where he’d found her between the tree and stream. “Wait.”
	Elayra hesitated. If she obeyed, leaving him to his own thoughts, he could sink fully into the Curse. But if she didn't...
	“Drust,” she started again, her voice exuding a practiced calm she didn’t feel. She struggled to find the good in the situation, to find some way to diffuse the negative excitement feeding the Curse. “The tree’s fine, and I’ll tailor—”
	She gasped as Drust’s snarl deepened, and he sprung to his feet. His grip on his sword twitched open, letting it fall to the ground as Elayra reached for hers.
	The girl didn’t have time to draw it. Drust grabbed her wrist tightly in one hand, yanking it from the weapon, and the collar of her shirt in the other.
	“Think, girl!” he spat through his teeth. The Curse's colors pulled back from his pupils for an instant. Exasperation mixed with a silent plea for her to put something together he didn't have the restraint to say aloud, momentarily pushing out the hazy, mindless fury. His neck twitched as the colors pulsed closer to consuming his gaze, deepening his snarl as he rolled his chin down. “I. Gave. You. An. [i]Order![/i]”
	 With a growling exhale, he closed his eyes, his grip trembling, and tossed her away from him in the general direction of their packs.