There was little recognition as Noah looked upon the woman. Her sun kissed skin and flowing golden hair, the way her cheeks were plump and warm with life — none of that resembled the Remedy that had fought on the opposite side of the war. Noah cocked his head in a way that was more bear than man, and offered her a lazy wave in return to her smile. ”Didn’t expect anyone else out here.” He said, voice an even tone, soft enough to be respectful of strangers but underlined with the glacial cut of his distrusting homeland.
”Are you traveling?” Noah asked curiously, his cocked head moving up to use his chin to point at her bag and tied up skirt. Noah was traveling, but certainly not in the same way. He didn’t have anything on him save for the compass in his pocket and a knife sheathed in his boot. She looked as if she were intending to be out here for a while, where Noah would poof himself back to civilization when he was ready.
noah olson
the emptiness of broken flesh, at the mercy of the thorns
