07-14-2011, 08:25 AM
The journey had been long, and yet otherwise uneventful, the horses fully tacked and laden with supplies. The black man stood with his three Guardians to the rear, silent, and watching Maska with a close eye. While some would look at Wematin and think him the proverbial elephant in the room, he could disappear into the shadows like smoke, and for this reason he was assigned to Maska with Nehale and Shadi; he was a dangerous man. Despite his close watch on Maska, he would've thought there no need for it so close to the branch tribe's borders; they were a part of the Great Tribe, if not lesser in stature and purity. But orders were orders, plain and simple; his opinion did not matter unless asked.
As Maska's horse took its first step over the boundary and the man gave the whistle, Wematin gave a covert signal with his own hand to urge his two companions forward into an arrow formation respectfully behind Maska, guarding his flanks and rear. Such a procession would surely warn anyone who meant harm away, and alert those who meant no harm that the man at the front was of importance. Wematin had no knowledge or thirst of it of how this branch tribe fared; it was not his duty to know it, judge it, or assimilate himself to it. His eyes remained on Maska all the while as his companions scanned the sides, but he knew they all smelled the fire burning as soon as the faint traces of smoke hit their noses. At the very least this didn't change; the Great Fire here was a child of the Great Fire in the Great Tribe--no need to wonder or worry. Wematin's ears pricked forward when his keen eyes caught sight of a flash of red--not of the fire--coming towards them, quickly making him pull his horse from directly behind Maska to stand a bit off the to side should he be needed to jump down immediately. He doubted the need for such a course, but his training dictated that caution was better than foolish ignorance.
Guardian walks. "Guardian talks." Guardian thinks.
As Maska's horse took its first step over the boundary and the man gave the whistle, Wematin gave a covert signal with his own hand to urge his two companions forward into an arrow formation respectfully behind Maska, guarding his flanks and rear. Such a procession would surely warn anyone who meant harm away, and alert those who meant no harm that the man at the front was of importance. Wematin had no knowledge or thirst of it of how this branch tribe fared; it was not his duty to know it, judge it, or assimilate himself to it. His eyes remained on Maska all the while as his companions scanned the sides, but he knew they all smelled the fire burning as soon as the faint traces of smoke hit their noses. At the very least this didn't change; the Great Fire here was a child of the Great Fire in the Great Tribe--no need to wonder or worry. Wematin's ears pricked forward when his keen eyes caught sight of a flash of red--not of the fire--coming towards them, quickly making him pull his horse from directly behind Maska to stand a bit off the to side should he be needed to jump down immediately. He doubted the need for such a course, but his training dictated that caution was better than foolish ignorance.
Guardian walks. "Guardian talks." Guardian thinks.