I am not a scholar and I don't believe in fate
A year ago, Noah would not have come. He would not have taken the time to carve a doll and present it to the herald. He would have been out on the tundra, gathering as much game as he could and spending all of his days preparing for the winter. Now, however, the hunter was learning more and more about being in tune with what the gods did in his life and the lives of others. Thus, he was here, walking along the beach with his doll in hand. He hoped it was a likeness worthy of the herald's attention, but he was not here to get recognition. He had never seen Ludo before, and could only craft something out of what he had heard of the god. Noah placed his doll with the others. His was so simple in comparison: palm-sized, carved from soft wood, painted to depict Ludo. Noah had spent a lot of time carving and witling the doll. Even the rags Ludo was known to wear were carved and painted, no fabric given to showcase the god's wardrobe. Noah stepped back, and turned, heading to rest near someone he knew: Deimos.
NOAH
