[center][h3]Umara[/h3][/center]
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Rolling her eyes, Umara took several steps away from the plain elf that seemed to be chastising her. What words she had said had been far from vulgar and she saw little reason in his manner.

She made no effort to hide her annoyance as she studied the unwelcome interloper. In her thoughts, she marked him a danger by his actions and by his words. His lies were bizarre. His manner peculiar. To endanger their endeavor so soon and without apparent reason, suggested only treachery.

There was no quarrel between them. She had not exchanged so much as a single word with the elf throughout the long journey. She did not know him. She knew nothing about him. She knew no name, no title, or even vocation. The measure of his motives eluded her, but Umara was not so guileless as to miss the provocation laced sweetly within his words.

"The nomads of the Desert Salts, the G'ana, have saying: [i]'The Gift of words is the gift of deception.'[/i] I thank you for the reminder," Umara said, channeling the kindly knife of politeness practiced by the famed swordsmiths of Nyskal.

Umara forced a smile onto her lips, nodding to the blond elf. Let him stew on that, she thought as she turned away from him. She walked slowly, willing no nervousness in her step and stopped next to the tall figure currently interrogating their unfortunate guide.

Better a pretty face, than a dull one, Umara reasoned casting a quick glance at Galahad before scowling once more at the beleaguered Farfa.