His hours in the hall were mostly lonely. He heard the thoughts and concerns of a few citizens that came in, but he was able to offer them instant resolutions to their problems without drawing in the rest of the council. He was thankful for that, because he had not seen the others in some time.
As the hours drew lonelier and lonelier, Noah turned his attentions to the season. He planned his hunts and his scouting, timed what needed to happen. All of this work, however, was a distraction to what he was truly feeling. The season hung heavy on his shoulders. Sighing, the hunter stood from the long table and moved over to his pack he had brought in with him. Inside there were bundles of supplies from his home. He kept them stocked, just as his mother did before him, with lantern supplies. She always had her boys make lanterns for the festival of lights, even if it was the only time of the year they connected with the gods -- she was, after all, abandoned by them.
Moving his supplies back to his table, he laid them out before him: fine paper he traded for in Torchline, sticks he gathered about a year ago from the Hollowed Grounds, and leaves of various plants from Torchline that Delphine had gathered for him.
