[b]“Those didn’t come from a dead person, right?”[/b]
	Elayra only shrugged. It wouldn’t surprise her if they had, but it made no difference. Goods were goods. Though, goods from a dead man cultivated less thief’s guilt.
	She scowled when Ghent actually [i]sniffed[/i] at the inside of the backpack. She opened her mouth to snap at him for caring about something so insignificant, but closed it again with a glance toward Drust. His hearing was uncanny, and right now, she needed to be careful, with how hard the Crimson Curse was fighting against him.
	Still, she couldn’t help but hope there’d be something foul-smelling inside the pack. The universe could at least give her that satisfaction. But, alas, he approved of the smell.
	Then, the universe made up for it; pink rushed to Ghent’s cheeks at her observation about his boxers. A corner of her mouth quirked contentedly.
	Elayra snorted at his comment about privacy, her gaze firmly fixed on his face. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. ‘Privacy’ seems to end in fire, explosions, or blood with you. If not all three.”
	Despite her words, she reluctantly turned so he wasn’t in her direct line of sight. She crouched in front of her backpack, debating on if she should keep her bow at the ready. Weapons were common enough; neither the Forgen nor Forsaken would take special note of those.
	She glanced to Ghent’s backpack. While the Curse-ridden might appreciate its skull pattern, it was misplaced in their world. Too clean despite its travels. Too un-Wonderland.
	“Put what’s left in your Earth bag into that one when you’re done.” She reached into her bag, rummaging around for her arrows. "Then get rid of the old one.”
	She extracted her hip quiver from the pack, filled with blue-fetched arrows, and sat it beside her. “The Curse in Drust will help keep the full Curse-ridden from noticing us right away, but they tend to latch on to… anything… unusual…” Her voice faded. She looked suddenly toward the victimized tree, two-and-two clicking.  
	The Curse [i]was[/i] acting stronger in Drust, but now it wasn’t only because it was fighting harder for control. 
	“Snark dung!” she cursed quietly. She got to her feet as Drust slowly stepped out from behind the tree, his Katana sheathed at his back. His neck and fingers twitched as he slowly neared. He curled his fingers jerkily into a fist. “He’s [i]giving[/i] it more control!”