It was a fair question, but one that had the attuned pausing before answering. He looked from Lyra's intense blue eyes to the table, and the uspplies laid out before them. Noah packed for the hunt as if he would remain entirely human, even knowing there was every chance he would take to the sky or snow in another shape before the hunt was through. Ultimately, it was because experience had carved a hard lesson into him. Halo punished that kind of thinking without hesitation.
There had been a time when he trusted too much in what he could do—what he could endure, what he could become. He had moved faster, hunted harder, and expected others to keep pace with him, forgetting that not everyone carried the same strength or the same gifts. That mistake had not faded with time. It lived in the quiet spaces of his thoughts, in the careful way he now checked every strap and blade, in the weight that settled in his chest when he thought of hunts that had gone wrong. Of one, in particular, that had cost more than he could ever repay.
So now, supplies were not just preparation—they were accountability. The rope, the blades, the food—none of it was excess. All of it was necessity.
"I used to think being strong was enough," he admitted, voice quieter now, steadier in a different way. "That what I could do would carry everyone through." He exhaled. "Halo doesn’t work like that. The tundra doesn’t care who you are." His gaze returned to Lyra. "If I bring people out there, it’s on me to be ready for anything it throws at us, or at them." While Noah held more power than any other wholly attuned he knew, his power as a demigod hadn't even saved his wife.
There had been a time when he trusted too much in what he could do—what he could endure, what he could become. He had moved faster, hunted harder, and expected others to keep pace with him, forgetting that not everyone carried the same strength or the same gifts. That mistake had not faded with time. It lived in the quiet spaces of his thoughts, in the careful way he now checked every strap and blade, in the weight that settled in his chest when he thought of hunts that had gone wrong. Of one, in particular, that had cost more than he could ever repay.
So now, supplies were not just preparation—they were accountability. The rope, the blades, the food—none of it was excess. All of it was necessity.
"I used to think being strong was enough," he admitted, voice quieter now, steadier in a different way. "That what I could do would carry everyone through." He exhaled. "Halo doesn’t work like that. The tundra doesn’t care who you are." His gaze returned to Lyra. "If I bring people out there, it’s on me to be ready for anything it throws at us, or at them." While Noah held more power than any other wholly attuned he knew, his power as a demigod hadn't even saved his wife.
the sentinel of the north
