Deepwood Weald while I burst into flames

It had happened overnight. He went to sleep to the dull droning in the air, and when he woke in the early hours there was nothingness to greet him. The trees still stood; some had lost their skin or inherited a new coat which twitched and hummed, but they stood. Nothing else survived — not the grass, the flowers, or even what nimble creatures may have spent time frolicing through the warm spring afternoons. He was still alive, although frolicing was not a part of Njal's great plan. The old man hobbled his way back east, trailing along the ocean's side until his hunger drove him inland. He did not know what sort of dangers lay here within the Teekon as he returned to it, but Njal did not care so much. He needed a place to rest, and found the weald (barren as it was), and hunkered down for a number of nights. He lingered for as long as he thought it necessary. His energy levels did not return though, and the ache in his hip was a constant, frustrating thing. Gradually the man found his way to the eastern edge of the ruined forest but he did not depart from it, letting the shadows shroud his grizzled figure for a little longer — he stood and observed, vigilant and brooding.

The need to provide the Fen pack with food drove Valtyr further and further away from the usually lush territory. However, each dale and forest he passed was the same: barren with hardly a trace of greenery. It felt as if larger prey had disappeared overnight... but even small game was difficult to come by. He worried for the pack. Would they have to relocate? Where could they possible go? These thoughts consumed him until two pointed brown ears stuck up from the bramble. A hare!

Without warning Val recklessly jumped into action - charging the rabbit as to not lose the element of surprise. Yet his efforts were wasted as the animal disappeared into its warren a few feet away. The young wolf let out a loud "AUGH!" as he came to a screeching hault. Another missed opportunity. Nettled by his own inability, the Sveijarn turned to head deeper into the nearby wood. A silver wolf stood just on the treeline... had he been watching the whole time?

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

What he saw gave him some hope, but the man's stone heart did not beat with any warmth as he took sight of the wiry boy. There was movement beyond the glen; a flash of gold, a muffled cry of indignation, and Njal assumed the boy had failed in his pursuit. He shifted his weight away from his aching hind as he took stride, creeping out from the dark with a heave of his tired body. Njal's grizzled face rose so that his eyes could follow the boy's antics, but he did not need to watch for long. The faraway hunter had indeed failed in his attempt, and now looked to the woodland where Njal had been hiding, clearly curious.

While there was something odd about the boy, the old man could hardly identify it. He noted the tapering of his muzzle, the rangy figure, and did think vaguely of his ex-wife — but almost as soon as his mind touched upon that subject it resisted, and he snorted softly, as if to expell the very thought of her. Njal sagged as he walked, concluding his short trek when he was nearer to the boy, but was not so inviting as to inspect his scent. In this time of trials wolves would be venturing far afield, and Njal hardly cared where his present company originated.

He did glance from the boy to the small pit where the target had escaped, and with a surly ennui presented some grave commentary:
First time using those legs, boy?

Valtyr's head lowered with his jaw clenched as the stranger approached, half-abashed by the fast that he witnessed such a poor performance. The Sveijarn's passive nature was already worn thin by the famine (though he did not realize the stakes were so high, just yet) and hardly wished for jeering commentary from some rando passerby. His desires were not heard, however, and the old vagrant approached just the same.

'Great,' Val thought as his gaze drifted over the approaching company. He was sturdy-looking, but aged — silver agouti pelt motteled with some gnarly scars. An old, byronic warrior who was, seemingly, traveling alone with a stiff-legged gait. If only Valtyr had been born gray, one might by able to recognize the family resemblance between the two. Even though more graceful features were given by his mother, Njal's mark was heavy upon the young man. From the chiseling of his skull and stature, to the shape of his eyes and the grizzled agouti of his pelt... However, not a twinkle of recognition shone in the boy's eyes, even though he was looking straight at his father. 

How could there be? He had been so young when they had become separated. Not even names had stuck - apart from the vague memory of Maera, Larus, and Jokull.  Tuwawi and Njal had always been, simply, Mom and Dad. 

"I'd like to see you try and catch it," Valtyr retorted as he eyed the leg the old man was favoring. "Came by hardly any scraps on my way up here. Nothing for miles." He slouched down onto his haunches, out of breath from the chase and hungry from traveling.

omg you get post #100 for the week, yay goals!

Boy's got some fire to him, Njal thought with a crooked tick of his lips, but he said nothing, only letting his ears do the work for now. When the unknown boy sank back Njal loosed a dim chuckle at the misfortune he faced, and took up the challenge. He had no reason to linger here in the company of such a young and inexperienced hunter, but at the same time Njal had been alone for quite a while now. He would never admit to missing the company of other wolves - or the company of his family and the security of a pack - but he felt it keenly. The irony of the situation was lost upon both Sveijarn, of course.

The old man rolled his eyes as he listened to the boy's comments and began to stride around him, towards the burrow. Y'know you don't have to run after them every time, the haggard man offered as a means of conversation, advancing towards the warren where the rabbit had vanished. He stopped at the entrance but just stood there, looking at it, then squinting in to the distance at something; Njal turned his head slowly to survey the ground but made no mention as to why. Instead he grumbled, Guess nobody taught you how to hunt properly. With a small tsk he started to move again, slow and steady, with his head low to the ground as if in search of something — but the rabbit's hideaway was directly behind him.

It was true. Valtyr never had a proper upbringing and this fact was reflected in his sloppy hunting style. As a young cub, he had been sheltered by the wolves of Blacktail Deer Plateau, but shortly after he had set off east past Teekon and leapfrogged from pack to pack. Always the outlyer, Valtyr fell into the roll of foil for other, more ambitious, members of the pack. Which was fine by him, for the most part. He was a collected creature and hardly made a fuss when more comandeering wolves ordered him to do this or that. The Fen was different, though. It was more familial than he was accustomed to... and because more resposbility to provide weighed on his shoulders, the gaps in Valtyr's primal education only grew. He could mostly get by on small game. Yet, the dire circumstances worked against him and, when paired with his bad technique, cotinued to line him up for failure. So, when the old greybeard heckled him, Valtyr could only murmur a "wha d'ya mean, properly?"

The Sveijarn was half curious, half indignant, as he watched from his seat. The stranger did a number of odd things. He looked into the distance and then into the hole. Valtyr couldn't help but be soured, thinking to himself 'old crazy man.' However, he kept these thoughts to himself and simply sighed an exasperated harumph as he observed the more seasoned huter.

He heard the boy and simply turned his head, hissing softly through his teeth in order to shush him; then, he resumed his prowl. Njal's attention followed the dirt for some reason, and he took his time and carefully paced his way beyond where the boy and the burrow sat. It looked as if he would be leaving the boy to his hunger.

Then, making a noise to suggest he had found something, the gray man's head bobbed down among the buzzed grass. Just beyond a tired shrub (which was probably a great dense thing before the locusts devoured it), he saw another dark patch. It was another hole which trailed underground towards the tired boy.

Without warning Njal lowered his head to that gap and loosed a barrage of deep bellows, likely startling whatever was hiding underground. He heard movement and braced himself with his mouth hanging open just in case the rabbit bolted in the wrong direction and came upon his teeth — but he imagined it would go out the way it came, in to the boy's waiting lap.

Like a child, Valtyr shut his trap when the man ordered it so. For a few beats it seemed like nothing was going to happen, until the silver wolf suddenly stopped behind the bramble. So fixated was the young firefoot, that he practically jumped in the air from surprise when Njal brayed into the ground. He never anticipated the old wolf barking into the hole. He wasn't the only animal startled however. The hare leaped from its hideaway in a fright. Valtyr, doubly shocked, let out a loud "WOAH!" as he snapped at the air to try and catch the cottontail a scurry of sudden movements. Predator and pray scrambled for a hot second, kicking up some dust, until his maw finally landed a hit to incapacitate their quarry. The hare let loose a small scream before Valtyr ended its life.

'Finally,' Valtyr thought to himself as he felt the rabbit go limp. However, he knew this kill was too small to make it all the way back to the Fen. He had been so focused on just finding something, that the reality of their sitation evaded him. This success felt like a small drop in the bucket, and it wasn't even wholly his to claim. "You did it," he said, inflection legitamately surprised, "never seen anyone scare a rabbit out that way before." He stood up with the bloodied rabbit in his mouth and jaunted over to Njal, lurching his head forward as if to instigate a tug-o-war so that they may tear it in two and share the spoils.

It worked! Truth be told, Njal did not know if it would be successful or not. It was entirely possible the rabbit had shot through the burrow and out the other side, but rodents were not intelligent creatures. There was also a chance it would have a heart attack because of the noise he bayed through the burrow; regardless of what could happen, what did happen brought a faint smile to the grizzled man's features. He remained where he was, letting the boy do as he wished with the caught rabbit, though his ears twitched when he heard him speak.

Then, with the rabbit offered to him, Njal shook his head. You need that more than me, he decided swiftly, showing an uncharacteristic amount of compassion. Or maybe he had already come to terms with his inevitable death, having reached the ripe old age of eight years and finding himself in a famine-struck landscape. Njal wheezed a breath through his nose as he got to his paws and while he stepped towards the boy and his breakfast, he sought a path which took him around the boy and east.

Njal did have one question for him, though — and it came as an afterthought: Where you from, kid? You never learn to think outside the box? Or in this case, think outside the burrow.

"Really, Mister?" Valtyr asked, voice muffled by a mouthful of rabbit. He was earnestly surprised by the old vagabond's good will. Hard times had fallen upon Teekon and, even though Valtyr couldn't know his company's reasoning, he was sure the stranger needed the meal just as badly as he. However, he didn't think too long on it -- he was antsy to get the food back to his pack. "Alrighhhttt, if you're suurree" he said, drawling the last sounds of his words to give the silver wolf a moment to reconsider. 

But he didn't. The man, instead, stood and moved towards his original path. Gazing at the darker parts between Njal's hair as he passed, Valtyr listened to the question. 'Yea, Yea, -- chide me all you want, grandpa,' Valtyr thought lightheartedly with a smirk. "I grew up not far from here... in a pack called Blacktail Deer Plateau. Though, I was born in the North. I don't live here now, though," he paused for a moment, thinking of a pack he had joined not long ago. "Bounced around a bit until I landed in Broken Antler Fen. To the South -- been there a short time. They're a good bunch." He grined (rabbit parts still sticking this way and that), adding "call for me if you need a favor, and we'll help ya out. The name's Valtyr."

actually screams

The old man's ears folded back upon his head when he heard the drawled tone of the boy's voice. He almost turned to shush him a second time, but the boy was already well on his way to another topic - and this one made him nod glumly. Many wolves came from the north, himself included, and he did not recognize the names of any of the packs that were listed. When he'd had enough of the stranger's explanation, Njal's pace increased slightly, and he prepared himself to leave the boy with the rabbit as if he'd never come across him — but then he heard the last bit.

That name.

It made the man's paws crunch upon the withered debris as he halted abruptly, and with a strangely agile sweep of his head and torso, he was shifting to face the boy; Njal's expression lost its usual grim appeal as his eyes narrowed, and he studied the brackish figure before him, silent, and obviously very intense as he mapped his features.

Did he dare mention his own name? What good would that do for this boy - my boy? But he needed to be sure. He needed to know if this was indeed the same — I'm getting ahead of myself, he thought suddenly. The man exhaled, the sound whistling through his nose, and instead of bringing up any of the shadows from his own past for the sake of gaining some answers, he simply stated: I'm... Sometimes called Palestrike. He felt shaken to the core by his discovery, but Njal knew that he had a limited time before his health ran out - he was not about to burden this boy with a haggard old father at this point.

He felt his heart thrum with a spark of something, a flicker, like a match being struck; yet he still turned from Valtyr and he still made his way, escaping - perhaps for the last time - from the responsibilities he once held. It is for the best, he thought to himself, although Njal would doubt this decision for the rest of his sorry life.

NO DADDY NOOO, LET ME LOVE YOU

There was a visible change in the old wolf's features as he slammed on the brakes unexpectedly, but as to why -- Valtyr couldn't know. The boy shifted his weight unconfortably beneath Palestrike's intense leer, unsure of what had suddenly caused such a shift in attitude. Only an uncomfortable 'uhhh,' hissed between Valtyr's teeth as he waited for the old wolf to speak, diverting his own copper gaze from the stranger's moon-yellow eyes. 

Yet, the tension subsided when the elder sighed - a wave breaking. Only a name was the silver wolf's parting comment. "That's a... cool name," Valtyr said, a bit off-guard by his strange behavior. "Sounds strong," he added with a firm nod. "I'll be seeing you, then," he called as Palestrike headed East. Valtyr, in turn, headed for the South and back to the Fen.