Only way through is to follow the fog
Noah's home had been uninhabitable, and so he slept in the office that was once his as a council member, and then warden, but truly was no longer his vocationally. Until he came back, it had mostly been empty. Collecting dust and spiderwebs, though the hearth never went out -- until war broke out. Once he built it back up, however, it was warm, and the cots pushed next to each other were just all that he and Cordelia needed.
He was restless, tossing and turning in his cot. Cordelia rubbed her hand along his spine, whispered soothing words to him, and ran her fingers through his hair -- but it wasn't enough. Everytime he closed his eyes, he was back in the Draig.
Unable to stay down for too long, Noah moved. The damage of this place, those missing, those gone -- he needed to help them. The rest of Halo needed his hands, his help, more than he needed his own house. He was up before the sun, clothed in what he needed to stay warm. He moved debris, he searched for anyone missing. He greeted and comforted and hugged those he cared about, those he knew, those he fed for as long as he could remember.
He stood in the Citadel, hands clasped around those of a woman much too bent and much too frail to have done much for the war, but she had survived. She had outlived everyone who loved her, and she had called out to Noah in the street. Explained where her last living son had been -- on the wall, near the gates, no no no -- and Noah agreed to hear her plea -- he would feed her. As he did the others. As he would continue to do. Deimos moving, though, caught the attention of Eira above and she alerted Noah. With final reassurance to the old woman, Noah moved towards where the griffin pointed him.
He sidled up to Deimos, but didn't say anything.
