I am not a scholar and I don't believe in fate
Noah's morning had been going well. He spent time out on the tundra with a few other local hunters that he knew well, tracking some luxere herds and checking snares and traps they had set a few days prior. Noah's traps had been lucky -- a few hares, plump and tender. A few of the other men had had the same luck, while others not so much. Noah split his hares with another man, knowing he had to go home and feed his family. While Noah had given away the larger of the three hares, he knew what he had would feed him and Delphine well. She didn't eat much meat, anyway, and she definitely ate less than Ezekiel ever did.
Now, happy with their finds from the tundra, the group of men sat together. They ate, drank, and laughed. Noah had not done this since before Deepfrost -- and it felt so right. He felt like himself again, his face wrinkled as he laughed loud and deep and warm with his comrades. While none of them were his close friends, it was enough for him. In fact, it was more than enough. They did not spend time sharing deep stories of their intimate feelings, trauma, or plans for the future. They merely sat together, telling tales of hunting stories and ideas to help each of them improve.
It was a relief for the hunter.
NOAH
