[h3]Umara[/h3][sub]Still in the Stonehill District, still by the West Gate, and still getting rained on.[/sub]
[hr]
"Firstly, I possess no pockets," Umara said to the two gargantuan guards, following after Tennaeus, and then gesturing plainly at her dress. She cast a questioning look back at Galahad, she had high hopes the knight would do something or at least provide a useful distraction, but she knew better than to rely on others, especially unmeasured and untested strangers. The self-proclaimed prophet seemed likely to confuse the ogres and if not, then his substantial strangeness might monsters arouse all the superstitious fears that such dim, dark creatures surely possessed.

"Secondly, I am clearly no mere human," she added, holding a finger to each of her eyes in slow succession. Perhaps the mammoth monsters would listen to golden haired speaker and her sweetly placating words, but what little Umara knew of ogres did little to inspire any great confidence in such diplomatic attempts at entering the city.

Umara was tired. She was growing increasingly cold. Her hooded cloak, waxed as it was, would not repel water endlessly. Were she not facing monsters several times her size, Umara might not have resisted the temptation to say some quiet rude things to the ogres. But she was no fool. She was no reckless adventurer. And so she waited, stoically next to Tennaeus, trying to adopt the somber, serious bearing of a clearly [b]not human[/b] creature, annoyed at the mere implication that she might be something as mundane as a mortal human.