Ghent held his breath as he waited for Drust's evaluation. The sight of the Knight's eyes up close sent a sharp, unpleasant shock through his entire being. His throat tightened at the memory of being lifted in the air by him. Drust, he decided, was more terrifying than a shadowmire and terraflame combined.
	Drust's chuckle made Ghent's skin crawl. He imagined the Knight might give a similar-sounding laugh if he decided to brandish his sword, finally giving in to the Curse...finally ridding himself of the two teenagers he must have felt entrapped with.
	Ghent shivered. He wished his intrusive thoughts and overactive imagination would take a hike. 
	"Uh...understood," Ghent coughed lightly, his lungs disagreeing with the lack of oxygen. He bit his own tongue as he dropped his chin, too unnerved to maintain eye contact for longer than he already had. His foolishness meant he would have to wonder about the Rabbit Hole in silence, the workings of Wonderland and its means of travel still very foreign to him.
	Finally, Drust stalked off. Ghent exhaled, shouldering his new bag as Elayra approached him.
	"Huh?" Ghent turned his head toward the princess. His eyes fell to her hand gripping his wrist, and he flushed slightly, still embarrassed after all that had transpired. He met her eyes again and blinked, waiting for her explanation.
	"Like...on purpose? Or..." Ghent trailed off, allowing Elayra to supply an answer herself. He bit the inner pocket of his cheek, his expression unusually contemplative. He wondered about their odds, their chances of traveling through the town undetected. 
	"I'll be careful," Ghent answered, strangely agreeable despite his track record. "I know I messed up back there, but don't worry..." he rubbed at his neck, careful not to disturb the bandaging. "I have no desire to stand out, or mingle with the townsfolk around here...not after what I've seen of this heck hole."
	After collecting and checking his belongings -- his bag, his father's book, and his staff -- Ghent hurried after Drust and Elayra, scratching at an occasional itch courtesy of his new shirt.