Noah Olson We all want something to hold in the night We don't care if it hurts or we're holding too tight
It was Noah's job as a hunter to keep people alive. He often fed two or three other families along with himself, and his brother another two or three. Giving away some leather and fur was nothing. But, Noah knew too well how people's pride would stand in front of their needs. He was used to coaxing people into letting him help them, and he would always do so. Death was the prize for pride, always.
Nodding, he breathed out a very simple agreement. "Sure." A painting would be nice in his home, perhaps hanging above the fireplace. After so many years without a woman's touch, the place was drab and almost colorless--a vessel of safety in a simple state. Having something artistic would put a nice touch in the place. The children fussed, and Noah did not let much thought pass before he opened his home to them. "I've got some extra stew, if you'd like." He turned and gestured out with his arm in the direction of his house, blue eyes watching Delphine, lips ready to defend his offer towards her and her family. |
