Without her wand, Neely had had quite the sour time attempting to entertain herself after lights-out. She’d failed at lighting a lamp-- nearly burning down her tent after the sixth match finally struck lethal luck in the form of flames-- and had thus been forced to squint while flipping through the same stack of magazines for the third time.

She knew she should have paced herself! Her mother was always warning her. Cornelia, be more leisurely!... Cornelia, you’re a lady now! Go slower! But, of course, next season’s collections were simply too mouth-watering to devour at the pace of a sloth. And Neely Woolfolk was pretty certain she’d seen a sloth that afternoon.

Having also failed at rubbing some awful muggle concoction on her legs-- which had been attacked by mosquitos shortly after the Cocoa Pod Incident-- the girl now smelled faintly of calamine, weakly masked by heavy doses of a patchouli perfume.

It was past midnight when Neely finally drifted to sleep, forfeiting her pampered-princess ways to the inevitable sticky, sweaty sheets that the steamy jungle would bring come morning.

But a mere hour into her light slumber, the Slytherin stirred. Her lashes fluttered, batting against her koala cheeks as they clung to those last precious moments of rest. Her blue orbs shot open as another sound, a very distinct crunch, came from behind her tent.

Frozen against her pillow, Neely clutched her blanket under her chin despite the heat. “Who’s there?” She whispered, so quietly that not even Professor Bombay would hear her if she’d been camping in the Greenhouses.

Another crunch, and a few shadows of swaying, ominous shapes looming over the tent's canvas, and Neely sat bolt up. She fumbled for her lantern.

“Merlin’s mangy mum, where are those stupid matches?” She muttered.

The wind whistled and the girl shivered, jumping up like Cashmere did whenever Neely accidentally kicked the sleeping creature in the middle of the night.

Despite her size and lack of effort, the Woolfolk girl caused quite the impressive domino effect: slipping over a glossy with a spread on Dennis Creevey, she tripped into her heavy backpack, and landed with a great umph. Her back hit the tent’s canvas, dislodging something outside, and whipping open the material of the mouth. Neely screamed, and then promptly covered her own mouth with a splayed palm. She scrambled to her feet and darted out of the tent, hands flailing over her head to protect her from the Neely-hungry monsters that lurked nearby. Clutching her stuffed rabbit, she jolted for the only safe haven in sight: Sasha’s tent.

If she had to bet her trust fund on who might save her, between the Hufflepuffs shacked up in the girl’s tent, and Sasha with his muggle bits and bobs and knives and whatever the bloody else he kept, she would sign it over on Schlagenweit anyday, whether or not they were currently On Speaking Terms.

Puppyish whimpers escaped her as she dodged across damp leaves, through low-hanging fog, and over clusters of fossilized rock. "Getawaygetawaygetaway," she murmured, too afraid to look over her shoulders. "Stay away from me, you freak!" She was sure, by this point, that it was some terrible Bear-Reptile-Jungle-Boy coming to steal her for Child-Bride-slash-Sacrifice-to-the-Jungle-Gods-Slash-Midnight-(Gourmet, thanks)-Snack.

Ripping open the front of the boy’s tent as if it were a Victorian bodice in a steamy romance novel, Neely did a strange sort of I-have-to-pee dance, although she had no desire to relieve herself. She darted into the tent and quickly pushed the nearest thing-- Sasha’s bag-- against the inside front to keep it closed, and to block out the Ninja Mutant Teenage Eaters.

Falling onto all fours and crawling toward the peaceful mass that was undoubtedly the tall blond Ravenclaw, Neely shook his back. “Sasha!” She hissed frantically, still clutching her old stuffed rabbit in the other hand. “Sasha! Wake up! Sasha!”

He'd shared little of Neely's difficulty getting settled and falling asleep.  Yes, it was a little warm and muggy but the mosquito net kept the inside of his tent nicely bug free even with the outer flaps open as wide as they could go. 

The day had been fantastic!  The whole incident with the water and the (man eating) fish had been a bit of a drawback but it still all managed to average out to a great day.  The research had been fascinating, the walk had been exciting.  Meeting Aleron, of course, had been the highlight of the day.  He'd been looking forward meeting the German since he'd first heard about him from Dreogan.  And, finally getting to do so - in the field - had been a better bout of luck than Sasha could have dreamed of asking for. 

He'd been exhausted by the time he'd crawled into his muggle backpacking tent.  At first, Professor Frasier had been reluctant to agree to Sasha's suggestions but the argument of a Happy Neely was an Easy Neely had won out.  Giving her the single room would allow everyone as complaint-free a night as they could hope for.  It had taken some time for Sasha to learn what circumstances were best for sleeping in the jungle.  He was used to the cold, rainy outskirts of London.  Or the colder, snowy mountains of Scotland.  Or the even colder, snowy Alps.  This hut, humid, muggy, bug-filled air was something entirely new.  Covers were pointless - they only made him sweat - his pajamas simply clung to the droplets of perspiration along his skin, causing the cloth to twist and bind around him as he turned.  Once he'd abandoned them (he was in his own tent, after all) and had stretched out on his stomach on top of his covers in his boxers, sleep had come quite readily.  And soundly.

He'd slept through the quiet though dramatic whisper of metal sliding through metal as the flap of his tent was unzipped.  Even the frantic dancing and the hasty entrance didn't rouse the sleeping boy.  It wasn't until long, delicate fingers graced his bare back and Neely whispered desperately in his ear that he was drawn from the depths of sleep. 

"Was?  Was ist los?" he murmured, still half asleep though obviously trying to force himself to a higher state of wakefulness.  He pushed himself to sit up, his head brushing the top of the tent as he felt around for the flashlight.  His fingers searched the dark for his bag but it was no longer where he'd left it.  He found it in front of the tent door - an odd placement, especially considering the still-open state of the door.

Perhaps it was self-preservation. Perhaps it was just luck.  But, he'd managed to consider the open door before switching on the flashlight.  Quickly, he crawled forward to zip it closed, again, before too many blood-sucking insects could crawl in.  The moment the flashlight flickered on, illuminating the inside of the tent, dozens of tiny, hungry visitors landed on the screen, eager to share in the buffet.  A thousand more shadows lighted on the nylon overhead as more landed on the glowing, blue fabric.

In the light, his eyes fell on Neely and, assuming an emergency had driven her to trek into his tent so unexpectedly, he blurted: "what's wrong?"  In the next moment, his eyes darted from her to her night clothes to the stuffed toy in her hand and, finally, to his own bare chest.  Color flooded the young man's cheeks, reaching a shade so dark it rivaled the skin of a pomegranate.  "I'm sorry!"  Sasha gasped as he grabbed for his sheet,  pulling it up across his torso and over his legs. 

His bare skin properly covered, he looked back at Neely (well, in Neely's rough direction - given the current state of things, looking directly at her was only bound to get him in more trouble than he was already.  Rightfully so!)  "I ... I'm sorry!" he repeated.  Yes, she'd told him he apologized too much but this was different.  For one, he hadn't simply repeated it.  The first apology had been for being improperly dressed.  (Or, insufficiently dressed).  The second one had been for ... well, whatever it was that had sent her charging into his tent in the middle of the night.  He'd given her his part of the main tent - he'd thought that'd gain him some extra points.  But, maybe it was too small.  Or ... he didn't know ...

"What did I do?"

Neely was so concerned with their impending death that (at first) she hardly noticed Sasha’s clothing. Or lack thereof. Her own pajamas were not much more shrouding, save a necessary top.  She blinked at his apologies, entirely confused. When she realized what was happening-- it was the sheet-turned-toga that tipped her off-- she let out a breath, her shoulders slouching forward in defeat.

Placing a hand on each of Sasha’s shoulders, she held him firmly and shook him hard. “Sasha!” She said again, as frantically as before. “Sasha! I don’t care if you’re in your skivvies! Listen, there’s something out there!” She tilted her head toward the tent’s mouth. “It’s trying to eat me. I think it already got the tent, and all my things!” Thank Merlin she’d put back the letter, or she’d have to explain why that was gone, too. A monster ate your extracurricular, handwritten apology.

“PleasecanIstaywithyou?” She said in one quick breath, looking at him pleadingly, her blue eyes pouring into his. He suddenly looked very tall, even though they were both crouched down in the tent. He also looked very muscly, despite his leanness, though perhaps she’d never noticed before because he was usually wearing a school uniform... and a shirt.

In her attempts to shake sense into the Ravenclaw, she’d dropped her stuffed bunny. Falling back onto the tips of her feet, which were folded under her knees behind her, she quickly shoved the childhood keepsake into the shadows of her back, and made her hands busy with stray blonde hairs. It was one thing to be terrified of jungle creatures; it was another entirely to admit to a sort-of-maybe-could-have-been-might-be boyfriend that she still slept with stuffed animals.

Two apologies and a well tugged-up blanket didn't seem to placate Neely as evidenced by the two hands that took hold of his bare and exposed shoulders.  "What?" he whispered at the sound of his name, desperately but quietly - the last thing he needed was for someone to catch him in this horribly exposed and precarious situation.  Suddenly painfully aware of the large, wide scar on his left shoulder and the several smaller ones on his right, he blushed a deep red but remained where he was. 

She didn't care?  How ... how could she not care?  She wasn't the one in her ... well, sort of ... she was.  Entirely of their own volition, Sasha's eyes focused more fully on Neely before sliding slowly over her figure before he quickly caught himself.  The color on his face deepened a shade as he muttered an awkward apology. 

"There's ... there's what?" he asked, once he'd managed to get his thoughts properly and appropriately shifted away from Neely's PJs.  "Out there?  There's nothing - I mean, I'm sure there are some animals or something but they won't ... they can't eat a tent."  Well, that probably wasn't true.  They probably could eat the tent.  And, jaguars could have rather nasty appetites if one were to believe the nature shows.  That, however, Neely didn't need to know. 

"You ... you want to stay..."  Neely was scared and wanted his tent.  He'd given her his side of the big group tent and she'd, somehow managed to knock that over and now she wanted this one?  Sasha's jaw fell slack just as his shoulders slumped with acceptance.  Of course, he couldn't say no.  He definitely couldn't kick her out.  If this would help her forgive him - or, maybe, even win him another chance, it ... it might be worth it. 

Might being the crucial word.  One glance at the bug-covered rain flap was enough to see that.  But, wizards probably had really good anti-itch stuff. 

The nod he gave would probably not convince the most observant individual but he offered it, anyway.  "Yes.  Yes, alright.  I'll ... I'll be just outside and I'll makes sure you're safe.  Nothing will get in."  Oh ... please.  Don't let anything crawl in his blankets.  Or on him.  He offered an awkward grin before gathering up his blankets in preparation for taking them outside.  At least he'd gotten a little sleep in the first few hours.  He cast the insulation mat a forlorn look before crouching over to crawl to the door.

“A monster,” she repeated. “I saw it!” Or its shadows. Or... well, it was definitely out there! “We don’t have all the usual magic with us, Sasha, and I think Professor Frasier trusts everyone-- er, everything-- too much.” Sort of like Sasha. “He doesn’t realize that there are things in the jungle that don’t want us here!” Except he sort of did, as evidenced that afternoon.

“It must have smelled my honey cashew lotion,” she lamented with a great sigh, taking a long enough pause from her hysteria to put on the dramatic self-pity and instill an oh-so-founded logic.

“Can I?” She asked, as he stumbled over her words, clearly processing them. But Neely mistook his confusion for initial acceptance, having found the letter she wasn’t supposed to read.

But then Sasha did give in, for real this time, and Neely sighed in relief, her shoulders heaving, a smile appearing on her lips as they dropped into place.

The smile dissolved as quickly as it had arrived, and Neely lunged after the boy, shaking her head and frowning. “What! No!” She said, tackling him at the mouth of the tent. “You can’t go out there! It’ll eat you, too,” she shout-whispered. Didn’t Sasha know this?! She crawled off him, hovering nearby on her knees, biting her bottom lip. It was if they’d traded places. “I mean-- let’s... let’s both stay in here. Power in numbers, right?” There was a laughing edge to her voice, her nervousness betraying her (as if her sheer terror already hadn’t). She realized, for the first time, what she was saying, and what it implied, and how it made the situation all the more awkward. She wanted to spend the night in a tent with Sasha, because she wanted to feel safe, and because he made her feel safe, and because she cared about his well-being, however childishly angry she’d acted toward him.

“Please,” she added more gently, gesturing to the tent’s middle. “Let’s just... let’s sleep in here.” She had not though to bring more blankets and pillows in her frantic escape. “I... and thanks for the tent. The other one,” she said weakly, supposing now was as good a time as any to cough up a long overdue thanks. She didn’t add ‘the one that the monster is going to eat.’

Before Sasha could reach the tent flap, a pajama-cladden Neely flung herself around him, forbidding him from leaving the tent.  Even if the thought hadn't crossed her mind, Sasha was more than well aware of the amount of Neely's smooth skin that pressed against his own exposed back.  By the time the Slytherin had let him go, he could feel the heat of the blush radiating from his cheeks and he quickly lowered the beam of the flashlight to help hide the extent of the blush. 

Clutching his blankets to his bare chest, Sasha looked back towards Neely, keeping his eyes carefully fixed no higher than her chin.  "Monster?"  Sasha repeated, in obvious disbelief.  Cornelia Woolfolk thought there was a monster out there?  In the Amazon?  Ok - so, given what he'd faced in the river, maybe it wasn't that far-fetched. 

What was more significant was where Neely had chosen to seek refuge, when faced with the fear of a monster.  She'd left the safety of the bigger tent (filled with three staff members, mind you) to go outside and walk across their campsite to get to his tent.  Cornelia had come to Sasha for safety. 

"Is that what that is?"  Sasha asked, his eyes fixed on Neely.  Though, now that she mentioned it, he was well aware of the fragrance drifting off the other fifth year though his mind wasn't really that concerned with its identity.  Actually, the less he pondered it, the better, all things considered.  Given the near panicked state of the girl kneeling in his tent, her ... lotion ... wasn't currently a high priority.  Nor, oddly, was trying to argue that he wasn't likely to get eaten.  He'd been trying to talk to her for weeks.  He would have hoped the opportunity would have arisen under more proper conditions but, with the way things had been going, he couldn't exactly be picky. 

And, he was still a little touched that, when faced with the fear of being munched, Neely had chosen to come to him.  Even if it made no sense, given she still seemed to be so angry with him.

"Let's sleep in here?  Both ... of us?"  He asked, slowly, half expecting for Neely to get outraged at what was surely a horrible, highly inappropriate assumption on his part.  "But ... why?  You still ... you're still furious with me.  Which you have every right to be - I mean I ... Sure."  If it would help his case, he'd go slay the monster.  Or, at least, convince it to go somewhere else

“Monster,” she reiterated, offering no more elaboration than that. Did it really matter what type of monster it was? Whether it planned to make a snack of the short, sugary Slytherin and her lean, German-spiced Ravenclaw knight, or whether it planned to give them starring roles in some Amazonian sacrifice, they were both goners if they left the tent. Neely didn’t care if it was hairy, sharp, many-teethed, three-horned, or one-eyed: it was a monster of epic destruction if she’d ever seen (or not-quite-seen) one.

“What?” She blinked, too distracted to remember her own mention of the lotion. She’d already moved on the matters of security, to half-brained methods of tying up the snug tent without wands in their possession. Silly professors. They never thought anything through, did they?

Having tackled him and backed off again, Neely sized him up more carefully now. Sasha was wearing much less than she’d ever seen him wear, even the times she’d peaked him at quidditch practice when he didn’t know she was watching. Though his thin form was usually swathed in well-tailored, conservatively stylish attire, she could now see the makings of muscle, the hard-earned trophies of an athletic life. A maturing body catching up with a teenage growth-spurt. She felt a blush surfacing, and quickly, ridiculously, looked down at her nails, as if she’d suddenly become very bored. Or very blind.

“Yes, both of us,” she said, as if he were absurd for asking. She was nearly going cross-eyed, studying her manicure like an x-ray technician. Finally, she forced herself to meet his eyes, her own gaze as wary of his secret muscles as Sasha’s were of Neely’s summery pyjamas. She sighed. “Sasha... some things are more important than silly fights,” she announced, surprising even herself. She blinked, her brain catching up with her mouth. But then she continued. “I mean, we want to make sure we live to get back to Hogwarts, right?” She asked. She dared him to say otherwise. “Power in numbers!”

Biting her lip, she searched his face, her eyes now prowling away from his eyes, as if she could look through him instead of at him, and as if that might lessen the humiliation. “I mean... maybe I...” She paused. She couldn’t say it. Overreacted was not a word in Cornelia Heloise Woolfolk’s vocabulary. Her bottom lip puckered like a floppy puppy’s, like the mouth of a creature trying to get used to its own bone structure. She silently attempted to appeal to him, to make him understand.

But then that single syllable left Sasha Schlagenweit’s mouth, and Neely felt herself relax like a jelly dessert. “Really?” She asked, sounding breathless in her relief. A grin spread over her face, despite the awkwardness of the entire scenario. Launching forward again, she attacked his front this time, tossing her arms around him to give a quick hug before she realized what she was doing. Peeling herself away, she curled back into the tent, slightly to the left of Sasha’s central sleeping place.

Propped on her elbows, she now studied the tent’s interior, the natural habitat of the species Fifth Year Ravenclaw Male. She did not mention her encounter with his older sister, or the fact that she bemoaned her boy troubles to not only Jacoba, but also to George (if in fewer words and less detail).

“So what do you do in here?” She asked, trying to switch the gears of the conversation as smoothly as the gears of a muggle car. (Perhaps she would earn bonus points from Professor Frasier. If she wasn’t expelled for cohabitation with a member of the opposite sex.)

Sasha might have missed all the social cues that indicated he and Neely were an item but even he was aware that trying to reason there was no monster right now would be a mistake.  It would really be best if he just went along with it.  Even at the expense of his sleeping spot.  Besides, sharing a tent with a girl couldn't be that bad, could it?  And ... it was Neely.  He was ... she was here talking to him ... wasn't he supposed to be wanting to do all those things George was trying to teach him?  Wasn't he supposed to be grateful for fake, student-munching monsters?

However, for a brief moment, Sasha wondered if maybe - just maybe - he could convince himself there was a monster out there.  Wondering about every bump and rustle and insect-like hum outside would at least provide a distraction from the awkwardness of situation.  And, the scent of honey and cashew.  And the suddenly rather-un-Neely-like way she suddenly was looking at her fingers.  Almost as if ... was Neely Woolfolk being bashful? 

"Silly - " Sasha cut himself off before completing that sentence.  Maybe it was the absence of fear of death by monster-munching that made the fight seem not nearly as silly to him as it clearly did to her.  Again, he doubted belittling her irrational fear would be the wisest course of action. 

He peered through the darkness at Neely, his eyebrows arching curiously as, for the first time in however long he'd known her, she was unable to find words.  Hoping this was it - hoping she was on the verge of forgiving him, he remained quiet and still, not daring to say or do anything that'd interfere. 

It was his agreeing to let her stay that ultimately broke the moment.  He sighed, disappointed and even a little annoyed, though he hoped that wasn't nearly as obvious.  He tried to force himself to mirror her own grin; his only hope was that, in the shadows of the tent, she wouldn't be able to tell the difference between the forced grin that settled on his face and a more genuine one.  Suddenly, without warning, Neely's arms were around him again.  He could feel the heat rush to his face but she'd pulled away almost as quickly, before he'd had an opportunity to return the hug.  If that was what he was supposed to do. 

Was he supposed to say something?  One of those things George had ... demonstrated?  The whole personal-space-crowding-random-trivial-comments-spewing flirting stuff?  Of course, during that demonstration, everyone was fully clothed in Hogwarts-approved uniforms.  And, even then, it all felt mortifyingly terrifying.  But - she was here because of the "monster" - if he didn't say something, would they be back to Not Speaking when they were safely back at Hogwarts?  "I - Neely ... I wanted-" 

But, he'd hesitated too long.  Before the question had fully left his mouth (in all its stuttering glory), Neely had changed the subject to that of the tent.  And, the ever so exciting topic of his activities in it.  "I ... um ... sleep."  He glanced around at the nylon roof.  "If the weather's bad, you're either in here all day or wet.  So, then...anything quiet that doesn't involve a lot of moving.  Reading, playing cards, drawing.  Or, just lying there and listening to the rain on the roof."  One of his favorite activities.  "I use it when hiking back at my oma's place.  In the Alps."

Neely blinked. The answer was so obvious, even to Neely Woolfolk, that it shocked her. Sleep. He slept in the tent.

“Really, Sasha?” She asked, feigning shock and awe. And then, grinning she shook her head. He was still as socially awkward as ever (and also as socially polite). “So besides sleeping,” she said, trying to elaborate on his behalf. And then she listened to the activities, each one simple and solitary. “Do you play any of those muggle board games?” She asked. Or was it bored games? That had been a multiple choice question on one of their tests. “What’s an oma? Ooooh, what about this game I sometimes play with Evie when I’m falling asleep!”

But she stopped abruptly, sat up a little taller, and calmed her smile. “I mean... we should probably get some sleep, right?”

And then...

“What was it that you wanted?” She asked, looking at him, trying to appear as she usually did, despite her current uniform. Or lack thereof. “You said you wanted something.” She waited for an answer, ignoring the prickles on the back of her neck. Perhaps it took monsters to make her listen carefully. Fear and close quarters and hormones often inspired such uncharacteristic behavior.

Color flooded Sasha's face, yet again and he looked down at his hands.   "I - well - sorry."  He muttered.  He hadn't meant for it to sound that obvious ... there just wasn't a more intriguing answer to provide in its place. 

"I mostly play muggle board games," he admitted with a slight shrug.  "I haven't really, you know, played a lot of wizarding board games.  Other than chess.  I haven't seen them play many others at school."  And, as they both knew, his wizardy factor outside of school was extremely low.  If not non-existent.  Which was, most of the time, on purpose.  "But, I suppose you could play them.  As long as they don't ... produce flames ... or dragons ... or whatever."  If one were to go by comparing muggle chess to wizard's chess, wizard board games seemed like they might have the potential to be catastrophic in highly flammable tents.

"Oma is grandmother," Sasha offered.  He gave the blanket he was sitting on (and in) a distracted tug to smooth it out.  And - what..."  His voice trailed off.  He'd heard rumors of the games girls play when they are having sleepovers.  Of course, they were 'muggle' games but he could only imagine (or, he preferred not to imagine) what wizarding truth or dare or bloody mary might look like.  But, it seemed polite to ask, "what kind of game?"

Almost as quickly, Neely seemed to remembering their Not Speaking status and suggested trying to sleep.  Whatever momentum he'd managed to find, whatever courage he'd found for offering his apology while she was here, trapped by a monster, quickly faded.  His shoulders sunk and he shook his head.  "It - it's nothing.  I'm sorry, I - yes.  You're right.  We should sleep.  Yes, I'm sorry." 

Finding an appropriate place and posture for sleeping was near impossible in such quarters.  But, somehow, he managed to wiggle his way up along the edge of the tent and back under the security of the blankets without being too revealing or too much of a bed hog.  He kept his gaze on the ceiling once he was situated. 

"I - you ... do you have enough blankets?" he asked, chewing the inside of his cheek.

Apologies and board games. It was decidedly very Sasha, now that Neely had time to dwell on it. She wondered, though, if camping brought out a different side of him. While painfully bright, he seemed a bit reserved at Hogwarts. (Alright, more than a bit.) And clearly there was discomfort over the whole magic thing when it came to being at home. The solitaire act of sleeping under the stars and playing singleton card games seemed to prove... healthy... for Sasha Schlagenweit.

Even if it meant less talking than usual.

Neely would have gone crazy in such a situation. More so than she was doing now, with the comfort of adults some several meters away, and Sasha to guard her from jungle monsters. Part of her fear had no doubt been fueled by the sheer boredom of being alone in a tent in an unfamiliar place. But that was not something floating on Neely’s subconcious in the dim and intimate quarters with its carpet of blankets and Sasha-warmed pillows.

Neely tilted her head. “But wizards have other kinds of tents,” she pointed out. “Ones with kitchens and fireproofing charms and real beds.” Come to think of it, Neely was rather shocked that the professors hadn’t brought one or two along. Just in case. Who knew when the forest creeps would strike? Or when a girl might become possessed by a midnight craving for cocoa?

Mmmmm, cocoa.

“You haven’t got a thermos with you have you?” She asked before she could stop herself. Remembering the last time they’d really, truly talked, she blushed. “With water,” she added quickly. “I’m just... a bit parched.”

She couldn’t help the smile, though, at the revelation. “It’s a funny thing to call a grandmother. But I guess if I were German, I would do the same. I guess everyone has their own kinds of grandmothers... Is she nice?” Neely had little experience with grandparents, really. Her mothers’ parents were a rare fixture at holidays, but Mummy didn’t get along well with her own mum. And her father’s father was dead, his mother completely ancient and soon to follow in Neely’s eyes. Besides, she still favored the boys, and always wondered where Demetri’s mother was when Neely was in her presence.

“A guessing game,” she said, innocently enough. She gave a yawn and stretched, making herself a bit more comfortable now that she knew she wasn’t going to be chucked out. “Like we ask each other twenty questions and try to guess what the other person is thinking about. And if you guess right, your chocolate tally goes up, and if you guess wrong you have to turn off the banshee alarm in the morning.” It was fairly simple and void of magic, come to think of it.

Feeling the awkward rekindle itself every few minutes, Neely decided, for once, not to ask question. There was still a pang of guilt, of doubt, of fear at being caught since she’d already been in here earlier, already went through his things. She did not press the issue, but let him keep his thoughts to himself, grateful he agreed that sleeping was a good idea. Even if Neely wasn’t sure she would be able to sleep.

Following his suit, she curled down into the blankets and covered herself with a cool sheet, squeezing her rabbit close. “Uh huh,” she answered simply, her eyes darting to the side to peak at Sasha, who was staring up at the tent’s roof. “Thanks...” She added, her voice small.