Let's decide to be the architects, the masters of our fate
The warlord's answer fit perfectly his posture. Brooding. Slumped shoulders and keen eyes out over the horizon. The ball of concern that wound tightly in Noah's stomach ached some as it lurched around. Had he been human in this time, the frown on his face would be plain and clear. As a lynx, it was harder to understand. Drawing himself to his haunches, Noah turned some and balanced on the icy fortress wall. He looked out over the horizon, too, scanning for danger. In the distance, wolves howled and called for each other. Noah's large ears rotated, satellites atop his head to catch any and all sounds of danger.
I asked Frey for help, Noah revealed, shifting his weight some from paw to paw, and they tasked me with keeping watch over the Citadel for at least a night, among other tasks. The god surely had been paying attention to him, for each task seemed perfectly molded for the hunter. Though, the idea of hunting a frost giant did bring some trepidation to his heart. It was not, however, what he was doing tonight. So he pushed the thought aside, and watched out over the wall, and asked Deimos another question. What is it that you are brooding about tonight? He asked the question as if this was a normal thing for Deimos to do--which part of Noah had decided it was--and there was a tinge of teasing on the corners of each word he spoke.
NOAH
