the devil you know is better than the ghost you don't
For any other man, the silence may have been torture. Not for Noah Olson. He was used to silence. He was used to quiet company. This silence was different, however. It was heavy and difficult and there was a thick air that covered the room as Korbin unraveled from within. Noah set his mug down at his feet. Without much thought, without holding himself back, he moved to sit on the cot bed next to the raven. He slid his back up against the wall and reached over with a strong arm, looping it over Korbin's shoulders. Some men would not act in such a way as Noah. He was not afraid, however. His father was no stranger to emotions, and no stranger to giving the comfort that was necessary. Noah learned that from him. He was not afraid of his own emotions (though there were some he didn't wish to feel), and he was not afraid of giving physical support and comfort.
He did not hesitate--if the roles were reversed and Noah was breaking down as the raven was, he would want a steady, physical comfort. Something to lean to. Someone to trust. "I know." He whispered, the lump and his own tears returning. He blinked them back and swallowed, his grip tightening in a supportive way on Korbin's arm. "I know." He whispered again, closing his eyes and praying to some god, out there, that Korbin would be okay.
so I sit and the scan the frequencies, watch the falling snow
Noah Olson
