Since their fight it was doubtful he would bring up the topics which added  to their fighting in the first place. He had already scratched off the want to even go to brothels for the food and the fun, despite knowing he wouldn’t partake in the actual purpose to the establishment. Noah had voiced he didn’t care about what others thought of him, his family, or Elann, but his bondmate made it clear she did, wanting to show that she embodied the purity she had been conditioned by all her life. It was something he struggled to understand, actually just deciding to leave it as it were than to understand it. He didn’t have a problem with Yahal, just didn’t appreciate nor see him like Elann did.

He followed Zulrav, the god of storms and the winds that fueled them. The winds and storms came as they wanted and left all the same. There was nothing to lock them down where they were, nothing forcing them to do anything. While Elann hadn’t essentially tried to force anything unto Noah, he had already expressed his detachment for Yahal and any other deity that wasn’t Zulrav. If it wasn’t for Zulrav’s attentiveness and appreciation for Noah’s innate abilities, it was doubtful he’d follow any divine entity at all.

Elann curled under his actions and laughed in a way that made her breathless. He drew happiness from it, not just because it was in their bond, but because she was showing it as well. He laughed, not as hard as she, but laughed to show his enjoyment. As she looked to him, her body tense and relaxing when his hands withdrew, he recognized the fatigue within them. In him tickling her, she managed to shy away from him enough to be on the bed she made on him no longer.

Looking at her tiredness and feeling it in their bond made him yawn, his hand coming up to cover it. Looking back at her, these were the quiet moments he enjoyed between them. Before, when they lived in Syliras, it was commonplace for him to be in her home but say nothing at all. She would talk, he would reply, and he wondered if she took it as a sign of him not wanting to talk to her at all. The actuality of it was that he was comfortable enough to even reside in the closed off room with her without being put off or uneased. She had found her way into his comfort zone without realizing it when she cared for him when his leg was afflicted with injury. Seeing her all the time, observing her, it was how he let her in.

“You’re making me tired,” he said plainly, yawning midsentence.

Noah looked at her again, gazed over her body as it lied there on the pallet on the floor of the wagon. The glance was normal for him but there was curiosity stirring in his mind. It compelled him to stand up, using the bench as an aid, and move towards the front of the wagon to their chests. He opened their shared one and dug around inside it, reaching towards the depths of the bottom with his good arm until he got what he was seeking.

Noah pulled out his journal, the one Elann had found when she saw the papers for the song he wrote on Caesarion. He didn’t stop then though, reaching in again to grab a piece of charcoal, something of a pencil. He set that atop the journal, closed the chest, and grabbed both things before moving to retake his spot with the pillow to his back. He sat cross-legged, opened the journal and set it on his knee. Perhaps surprisingly he took the pencil in his left hand, steadying the pad with his right, as his eyes went over to Elann again. He figured she wouldn’t be moving since she appeared quite tired, near the point of sleep already, so he gave her another lingering glance, something enough to take in the full length of her body and the immediate surroundings before he started scratching away at the parchment in the testing scrapes that denoted the framework of a sketch being crafted.