Elayra’s attention snapped from the rat to Ghent as the boy spoke. She hissed a wordless warning at him for his quiet denial, but the sound faltered; she did a double take as she at last noticed the ears on his hood. But its comedic effect was overshadowed as she registered his expression; his horror-swollen gaze roved the street-turned-dumping-grounds around him.
	Apparently, her advice to not look had worked it’s magic a little too well.
	The rat didn’t give her time shut down more sounds from him before it scurried toward them, distancing them and making matters worse.
	The clatter of Ghent’s staff sounded like a clap of thunder in the quieter quarter of the city. Elayra jumped, heart in her throat. She instinctively reached for her saber, her own fear overshadowing her boiling frustrations. She cringed, pity tinging her frustration further as Ghent threw up.
	The sound threatened to be the final straw to make the contents of her own stomach join the other rotten things riming the street.
	Drust, too, had spun toward his sounds of distress, but his fury shone over his concern—if there was still enough of himself left to [i]be[/i] concerned for their safety. His neck and fingers twitched. His arm jerked oddly, as if fighting with himself to not draw his katana. An irate sneer twisted his face.
	Before Elayra could sort between the terror of potential discovery, anger that Ghent was—again—a hinderance rather than a help, and the confusing prickle of compassion for his predicament, Drust swooped past her.
	“Drust! Don’t—!” She reached out toward him, but he was quicker.
	Snarling, Drust gripped the back of Ghent’s hoodie at the boy’s neck. Heedless of Ghent’s condition, the Knight hauled him into the nearest alleyway, treading carelessly over a couple corpses in front of it.
	Elayra hurried after them, scooping up Ghent’s staff without pause. The cobblestones turned into rubble in the new alleyway, the mix of stone, bone, and dirt crunching wetly beneath her boots. Wider than the one they’d entered through, someone had slathered careless patch-jobs of stucco mixed with children’s marbles on the buildings.
	“Stay close,” Drust ground out, his gravely words low and clipped. Mid-way down the alleyway, Drust slammed Ghent against a wall. “Stay. [i]Quiet.[/i]”
	One of Drust's hands fisted the front of Ghent’s hoodie, pinning the boy in place. He clasped the gloved hand of the other over Ghent’s mouth. The red of Drust’s irises had narrowed his pupils to pinpricks, the veins branching out from them pulsing with eager, hungry wrath.
	“Two. Rules.” Drust’s head twitched, his face barely an inch from Ghent’s. “[i]Two![/i] You blithering… [i]useless…[/i]!” He spluttered, his snarled words catching on his tongue. He pulled Ghent from the wall to slam him against it again, harder.
	“Featherhead?” Elayra supplied, lunging at him with one of the sheathed blades to get him to back down before he did any real damage to Ghent.
	Drust’s attention snapped to her. He released Ghent’s mouth to deflect Elayra’s blow. He gripped the staff just beneath the blade and wrenched it toward him, trying to stagger her. Instead, she used the momentum to kick at him.
	To her plan, Drust fully released Ghent. He gripped her boot at her ankle and twisted it, forcing her to turn with the motion, or risk injury. Though she’d been expecting it, her hand already at her saber’s hilt and body tilted to counter drawing it, she failed to account for the slick gravel.
	The ground shifted awkwardly beneath her supporting leg. He tugged on her foot, and she lost what balance she had. She caught herself before she smacked into the ground, but Drust released her ankle, and shoved her down with a foot to her back.
	The stench of decomposing meat and feces filled her nose with a new intensity. This time, she couldn’t keep from choking on the bile that burned her throat.
	Fighting to swallow it back, her hand shot out and grabbed the foot Drust had planted beside her. Using the looseness of the ground to her advantage, she wrenched it out from beneath him, and he fell back. She rolled from him and staggered to her feet. Blackish-red smeared her hair and chin where it had sunk into the sludgy gravel.
	Her back thumped into the opposite side of the alleyway. She leaned her weight against it, knees shaking slightly, and spat out what she hoped was just her own bodily fluids. Her stomach threatened full retaliation at the thought of the alternative.