[center][IMG]http://i1214.photobucket.com/albums/cc493/zarkys5/numas%20icon2.png[/IMG]
[h2][color=4ECCAC]Alone || Edge of Camp || Eyes on the[/color][color=orange] Wolfrahg[/color]
[color=4ECCAC]Mood: Contemplative[/color][/h2][/center]

 The Rumasra arrived a few days early, as they seemed to do almost every year. Their Chief, Reisa Ruma, always preferred to err on the side of caution. As a clan from the marshes, their people struggled outside of their wet, squishy refuge as the plants and animals grew more foreign the further they pushed from their nature sanctuary. Truth be told, it had been a while since Numas was in attendance. In fact, Numas almost seemed eager about the meeting of their clans this year, much to Reisa (and everyone else’s) chagrin. Their witch doctor was an expert, but Numas’ beliefs and thoughts put many others at edge. The Rumasra were not a spiritual people. Their superstition kept them on their toes around graveyards and nature spirits, but that was as far they stretched.

[indent] [i] “Now, Numas,” Reisa pulled them aside a few days into their journey.

  Numas’ head tilted towards their chieftain. Beads clacked against each other as bound strands of hair banged into each other, and they leaned against their curled, long staff.

 [color=4ECCAC] “Yes, Reisa?”[/color]

 “Must I remind you that you are representing the Rumasra while you are here?”

[color=4ECCAC] “I will stay out the way,”[/color] Numas coughed.
 “That is not what I-“

[color=4ECCAC] “I understand, Reisa. You do not agree with my practices, and your fear is that my ‘dangerous thinking’ will ‘poison’ others and reflect poorly on the Rumasra.”[/color]

 “Very astute of you.”[/i][/indent]

 Now, Numas stood leaning against their staff at the edge of the camp site with their free hand crushing some dried leaves within it, and their usual pondering went by as the mighty Wolfrahg wandered into the large group that was beginning to grow.

 For his joy, Numas had plenty of time to think, and to share their thoughts with some of the others on their long, arduous journey from the marshes they called home. Numas’ time away from the tribe came in handy when it came to discovering plants that no one had ever seen before. Many nights were spent with Numas and one or two young people that joined with them as they brought praise to the Gods. Numas constantly asked for their names, for their dreams, and while they never brought the answers Numas was looking for, they did send their images. Usually, it was up to interpretation.

 But their last dream was not the usual fanfare. Its images were so… literal. The banners of the clans burning down… Numerous animals tearing each other apart, as strings pulled at marionettes that were already bleeding…

  Numas wasn’t weighed down by these other images. They scratched at their damaged, blind eye as they brought the crushed herbs up to their nose and took a quick sniff.

[i][color=4ECCAC] Perfect.[/color][/i]

 From scent alone, Numas predicted this would bring his mind and body together once more, at least for a few moments the next time he would commune.