Noah Olson We all want something to hold in the night We don't care if it hurts or we're holding too tight
The weight of the names and the stories brought back the lump to the hunter's throat. Halovians knew the feeling of loss well. Hunters died everyday in the Tundra. Noah was lucky to have lived this long -- some only get half as many days as what he had. He swallowed, hard, the sound of it definitely audible to the hardened woman. She had asked him to stop naming the names aloud, giving her their stories, but she had also asked for his help. He nodded, "I will help with whatever you need."
It seemed to be a statement that a lot of people would say in the wake of his devastation, but it was a statement that an Olson always meant. They were men of their words, and Noah held it even deeper. He existed to help serve people, he knew that. It was a way to be good. His father had raised him to sacrifice and live in a selfless way. If Morgan needed help, he would give it. Noah tucked his body in as much as he could, huddling within his cloak. Ice tendrils grabbed the tips of his beard and mustache. "Morgan...what are your opinions about Zariah and her crimes?" He asked behind a raised eyebrow, lifting icy eyes up towards the curly haired Captain. |
