The knock threaded itself through the drizzle, but Noah stilled where he stood, a coil of rope slackening slowly in his hands as his attention sharpened, his attuned senses having already been pulled to the presence at the door. He was not filled with alarm, but with the quiet, habitual awareness of a hunter who had long ago learned that the world, Halo especially, rarely announced itself twice.
For a moment he simply listened. The rain sputtered against the roof in thin, needling strokes, more ice than water. Setting te rope down, the Sentinel crossed the lodge in unhurried strides and opened the door. The cold pressed inward like an unwelcome guest, sharp and intimate. On his doorstep, however, was not an unwelcome guest. Lyra stood on the threshold wrapped in layers upon layers, as though she had tried to build a fortress out of fabric against Halo’s temper. The drizzle clung to her dark curls, each strand heavy with silver beads that caught the weak morning light like scattered frost.
“Lyra!” he said, surprised, yet aware of how her appearance and her name on his lips felt suddenly warmer than the hearth at his back. His glacier eyes moved over her with instinctive thoroughness, senses automatically taking in if she had the metallic scent of blood on her. She did not. “You’ll turn to ice if you linger there.” He said hurriedly, stepping aside and holding the door wide as a harbor gate in a storm. “Come in.”
When she crossed into the lodge, he shut the rain out behind her, sealing them inside the steady glow of firelight and woodsmoke. He searched her as she stepped through, curiousity starting to ping at his edges. ”What brings you up to Halo, and so far out here?”
For a moment he simply listened. The rain sputtered against the roof in thin, needling strokes, more ice than water. Setting te rope down, the Sentinel crossed the lodge in unhurried strides and opened the door. The cold pressed inward like an unwelcome guest, sharp and intimate. On his doorstep, however, was not an unwelcome guest. Lyra stood on the threshold wrapped in layers upon layers, as though she had tried to build a fortress out of fabric against Halo’s temper. The drizzle clung to her dark curls, each strand heavy with silver beads that caught the weak morning light like scattered frost.
“Lyra!” he said, surprised, yet aware of how her appearance and her name on his lips felt suddenly warmer than the hearth at his back. His glacier eyes moved over her with instinctive thoroughness, senses automatically taking in if she had the metallic scent of blood on her. She did not. “You’ll turn to ice if you linger there.” He said hurriedly, stepping aside and holding the door wide as a harbor gate in a storm. “Come in.”
When she crossed into the lodge, he shut the rain out behind her, sealing them inside the steady glow of firelight and woodsmoke. He searched her as she stepped through, curiousity starting to ping at his edges. ”What brings you up to Halo, and so far out here?”
the sentinel of the north
