<div class="floatleft">(https://i.pinimg.com/564x/76/32/2e/76322e4fc777d19817876487eb8af3e6.jpg?text=Character+Image)</div><br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">NAME:</span></strong>Aphashe (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2470240)<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">AC:</span></strong>21<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">HP:</span></strong>59/59<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">EFFECTS:</span></strong>Items (bonus Dex, Cha, Sav)<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">PERCEPTION:</span></strong>12<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">TAG:</span></strong>Open<br/><hr/>Careful not to raise her hands to her eyes, Aphashe lifted her gaze along the ridges indicated, confirming what'd been observed and noting, throughout the day, the distance and activity of the small caravan's uninvited and unwanted guests.  Each time, after a few moments of watching-- always careful to turn her face slightly in that direction, the hood of her traveler's cloak drawn up against the sun, but turned just slightly away from the direction she watched-- she began to sing softly in a voice that was quietly encouraging, carrying among those around her, haunting as it dissipated to audial smoke over the silence of the wastelands. Each song was a variation of one she knew from years in bondage, songs that matched the rhythm of work, that spoke of reward in the great beyond, and that contained numbers or symbols-- things she improvised on the spot-- to convey messages.  The tunes were meant to bolster spirits-- if not magically, not yet, then at least sympathetically.  They reminded the caravan to hold fast, encouraged others not to panic, and set a tone of normalcy and conviction to accomplish a task, even a daunting one.  (Sharing as an approximation of the tune and voice, not the words) (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=30z9HhpvX2A)<br/><br/><em>"A breeze from the north, four stars high on the ridge, whining white like old bleached bone, they carried onward the stars unseeing and waited night till morning come.."</em><br/><br/>She sidles up beside Urd and gently bumps her with her shoulder, as if accidentally, then meets her full on face to face with a cheeky grin.  "You're as good as any of us, no betters 'round here," she says in a voice that's friendly enough, but worry seems to crease the corner of her eyes, and she shares the concern.  Of course... Bleachlings were not unheard of here.  Caravans, guns, keeping a solid watch... they kept them away.  Most of the time.  But Aphashe had seen enough of the certainty of Urd's 'feelings' and 'suspicions' to recognize they should never be dismissed outright, and she echoed them already.  Why follow at all, if the caravan had no sign of trouble?  Unless there was something that the scavengers truly -wanted-.<br/><br/>"It may be a cover.  Keep sharp."<br/>