Noah paid little mind to the women of the caravan, young or old. He was not ignorant to their gazes, saw how their wonder seemingly grew with each shift from man to eagle, and how he paraded his nude body around the camp until Elann told him otherwise. He didn’t mind their attention, occasionally meeting their glances with his own made in meaningless scanning of his surroundings. He thought they were weird, bizarre, borderline creepy with their gawking and shifting glances when their possibly controlling husbands strolled on by. He’d observed enough to draw assumptions and base his own conclusions off his observations, he just managed to keep his opinions to himself because he didn’t care to discuss them.

Noah found a pair of underwear and a pair of pants. He slid the former on, pausing as he bent down to tend with the pants when Elann spoke. He didn’t answer her, letting her question hang there without clarification until he got his pants on. Noah prolonged any answer longer still, going as far as reaching for a shirt as well, many of which weren’t dirtied since he hadn’t worn them that much during the trip. He went further still, though he was moving slowly. Noah found his shoes and slipped his feet into them, bending down slowly to pull them over his heels.

Next, he went for the wagon’s exit, moving one of the flaps aside to let in the faint moonlight. “Help me down, please,” he asked of her, pointing with the other hand out of the wagon.