He stopped walking, quite suddenly, head tilted as if listening to the words that were sang. Maybe he was, indeed, listening, for one, his prayer beads no longer slipped between fingers. The caravan moved around him, splitting so natural to not bother him it was eerie.<br/><br/>Song was something, music too. Near magic, a world, ideas, concepts, spun in a way both foreign and not to the world around it. It made him think, but not out loud. Not even when he started to walk again, now a lot closer to the end of the caravan, closer to the music and the sang words.