His hours spent at the bar were good for him. He gained some knowledge, he heard some complaints, and he observed. If Noah was anything, it was observant. His time on the tundra tracking and hunting and planning and herding had given him that skill. There were very few things that happened in the Olson's life that he didn't notice--and when he did, it was probably because it didn't matter. The woman sitting at the bar--one he recognized briefly from the bar games they all played before their lives exploded, and the one known to be the advisor of the Grounders--was not lost on him. He watched her out of the corner of his eye for a while before he slid towards her, taking up an empty stool on her right.
"What's its name?" He asked, glacier eyes tipping down to the dwarfed luxere she kept showing affection to.
