It's too much to bear my darlin', the weight of the world
And I would carry it for you
The letter came for Noah on the very day he returned to the lodge from a hunt. The courier arrived scarcely minutes after he and his crew did, boots still crunching snow into the threshold, breath fogging the air. Noah had not yet shed his layers or unbuckled his weapons when the envelope was pressed into his hand. He knew the handwriting instantly—recognized it the way one recognized an old scar and every story it was tied to. Familiar, unmistakable, even after seasons of silence.
He broke the seal with numb fingers and read the single, devastating sentence. He caved inward. A glacier falling into the sea, sending shockwaves of frigid water and shattered ice. His hand fell automatically to his breast pocket, thumb brushing the worn edge of the compass.
His feet struck the ground in New Haven already running.
Two strides carried him forward before instinct overtook thought, and he shifted. Wings tore free of his back, vast and powerful, the sky opening to him and aiding the unspoken promise he could not afford to break. He cut through the air with ruthless focus, glacier eyes fixed ahead, nares flaring as his jaw parted. Her scent hit him all at once like a tidal wave crashing into a coastal town, rearranging everything it touched. He knew it as he knew his own heartbeat. Time and distance meant nothing to it. They never had.
His heart thundered as the trail drew him onward, down to the house in the meadow. He shifted again before the porch, boots slamming against the wood as if the earth itself had tried to stop him and failed. He did not hesitate. He did not knock. He did not care what awaited him on the other side of the door. She needed him. That was all that mattered.
He would never forsake her.
The moment he crossed the threshold she hit him fully through the attuned bond. Her presence flooded him, overwhelming and unmistakable and so deeply familiar, filling every corner of his senses like fire rushing into dry kindling.
But what filled it sent his heart plummeting, shattering like a vase dropped from trembling hands.
Emptiness.
It was vast and cold and hollow, a cavern where warmth should have been. It fought viciously with the Frey-given light that pulsed golden through the room, the glow flickering like a candle in a gale.
"Ru," he murmured, the name breaking from him in a whisper. He crossed the room quickly, shedding fur and leather and weapons as he went, until nothing remained but his favorite green shirt and his ruddy brown pants. He circled the couch with caution, eyes cutting briefly toward the dragon with a hunter’s wariness before he knelt in front of her. Glacier met seaglass—searching, testing, reaching across the terrible distance between them.
His hands closed around her shoulders, grounding, desperate. "Ru," he said again, softer now, voice frayed at the edges as he worked to hold his resolve and stand for her the sentinel in the storm. "What happened?"
He broke the seal with numb fingers and read the single, devastating sentence. He caved inward. A glacier falling into the sea, sending shockwaves of frigid water and shattered ice. His hand fell automatically to his breast pocket, thumb brushing the worn edge of the compass.
His feet struck the ground in New Haven already running.
Two strides carried him forward before instinct overtook thought, and he shifted. Wings tore free of his back, vast and powerful, the sky opening to him and aiding the unspoken promise he could not afford to break. He cut through the air with ruthless focus, glacier eyes fixed ahead, nares flaring as his jaw parted. Her scent hit him all at once like a tidal wave crashing into a coastal town, rearranging everything it touched. He knew it as he knew his own heartbeat. Time and distance meant nothing to it. They never had.
His heart thundered as the trail drew him onward, down to the house in the meadow. He shifted again before the porch, boots slamming against the wood as if the earth itself had tried to stop him and failed. He did not hesitate. He did not knock. He did not care what awaited him on the other side of the door. She needed him. That was all that mattered.
He would never forsake her.
The moment he crossed the threshold she hit him fully through the attuned bond. Her presence flooded him, overwhelming and unmistakable and so deeply familiar, filling every corner of his senses like fire rushing into dry kindling.
But what filled it sent his heart plummeting, shattering like a vase dropped from trembling hands.
Emptiness.
It was vast and cold and hollow, a cavern where warmth should have been. It fought viciously with the Frey-given light that pulsed golden through the room, the glow flickering like a candle in a gale.
"Ru," he murmured, the name breaking from him in a whisper. He crossed the room quickly, shedding fur and leather and weapons as he went, until nothing remained but his favorite green shirt and his ruddy brown pants. He circled the couch with caution, eyes cutting briefly toward the dragon with a hunter’s wariness before he knelt in front of her. Glacier met seaglass—searching, testing, reaching across the terrible distance between them.
His hands closed around her shoulders, grounding, desperate. "Ru," he said again, softer now, voice frayed at the edges as he worked to hold his resolve and stand for her the sentinel in the storm. "What happened?"
