[se] rhythm is nothing

Noah Olson We all want something to hold in the night We don't care if it hurts or we're holding too tight Cordelia was sleeping most of the day away in their hunting lodge, the aches and pain at the end stages of pregnancy nearly too much for her to handle. Her mother threatened and forced her to stay in bed, and gave her some raspberry leaf and chamomile tea to hopefully move things along while also giving the woman some much needed comfort. Noah, on the other hand, was sentenced to the out. He was far too restless and when his mother in law found him pacing the kitchen she sent him away. Go find us something fresh for dinner. She commanded, and Noah did head out, though it was with a dipped, reluctant head. Gathering up his bow and his quiver of arrows nonetheless, the hunter and his griffin moved out. Noah had Vidore stay near the lodge where he could graze, but also so that his healing touch was only a blink away should they need it. Eira went to the skies and Noah followed. A few hours passed and there were no signs of Luxere on the crisp spring day. Surely, like Cordelia, they were napping too. So, Noah followed the path towards the few traps he had set in the last month to see what he had managed to snare.