Firefly Glen you're familiar like my mirror years ago

@Val

A light rain had begun to fall in the early evening, and through the night it picked up to quite the storm; there was hardly any wind though, and the air reeked of salt, likely because of the heat sucking the sea dry through the previous day. It wasn't too cold either; just salty, warm, and dripping mercilessly. Njal did not find the cold so bearable now. By the morning he was wide awake and still damp, but the rain had ebbed to something minimal, and even the birds had begun to sing again. There weren't many of them.

He was up and roaming despite the ache in his hip. At this point Njal couldn't tell if it was from his lack of sleep, his position, or an actual problem with the joint — it just never ended, this pain. It was a constant reminder of the caldera pack, of one of the many disasters he had faced and survived. With a grumble he roamed out from the damp boughs of the forest, idling his way eastward for no real purpose aside from warming himself up. He was a zombie. Exhausted, cold, beaten down by the famine and the toils of age. He knew, somewhere inside of him, that this would all be gone one day. He would be gone. And that brought focus to his mind.

He thought of what would be left behind once he was gone, and as he crossed through a dense grove of strange trees, finding himself in a foreign glen, his mind recalled the sight of a young boy struggling to catch a rabbit.

Though rain promised Teekon would soon be a verdant land once again, the dampness troubled vagrant hunters on their search for food. What small game remained stayed stationed in their burrows to wait out the summer storm and the ground became soggy and arduous to trek across. Valtyr made his way north once again, having no luck West in the Hinterlands, on his search for food. Earlier in the week, the pack had stumbled upon two fighting bears. The great feast provided a much needed reprieve from the troubles of the famine and all the wolves visited he carcass again and again until absolutely nothing remained.

New energy invigorated the Sveijarn, damp and cold as he may be, but his mind was absent -- thinking of the she-wolf, Gaia, whom he had met on such an expedition. Eventually, the weary boy needed rest, and so found a patch of Earth among the Glen's new growth. Curling into a tight ball, his lids slowly drooped until he was half-asleep in dawn's cool light. However, instinct kept his senses alert. The footfalls and smells of a stranger roused the groggy traveler. His bracken head raised above the grass, blinking dew away, as he saw a familiar face in the distance.

Thoughts criss-crossed through his mind. Images of the boy, of himself as a boy, of his siblings, of the glacier. The occasional pang of cold, of wet, inturrupted all those thoughts. He trundled along and then, when he heard something shift in the grass, he stopped. The crown of a face shifted above the dried grass, or what was left of it. He grunted softly, more of a hmm than anything, and settled in to a moment of silent observation. It wasn't until he was a few feet closer that he realized who this was — and upon understanding that, Njal's pale eyes widened in surprise.

He looked away briefly to gather his thoughts and, perhaps more than a little, compose himself. As he peered upon the boy again, there was something.. different about him. Something controlled. You again, he rumbled, or rather wheezed, as he settled back upon his haunches. Must be quite the hunter if you're still here. What with all the famine and... Stuff. Smooth, Njal. He has no idea how to speak to his own son — but then, he hadn't had much practice.

Valtyr's bunt maw meandered in the air as his nostril's flared and tasted the stranger's scent on the damp breeze -- only to realize it wasn't a stranger at all. It was the old man from a few weeks back, still wandering through the central section of Great Bear Wilderness. He suspected they would never meet again, as most wayward travelers didn't cross paths twice, but it seemed they had each settled down in the area. The Sveijarn slowly rose to his feet with a yawn and gave his sandy pelt a good shake. Small water droplets sprayed from his guard hairs as he licked his chops, vermilion ears pressed forward as he took a few steps towards the older wolf.

"Trying to have a row?" he jeered with a sooty grin, taking the other man's remark as friendly shade. "I'll have you know my pack and I took down a bear last week," a starved and weak bear... but a bear was still a bear and it had fed them all and more. However, the Fen's soft groud was ill-suited for the small game Valtyr sought, and so it was required to range far if one wanted to find decent prey. "This place just happens to be the best—" the boy's voice trailed as he got close enough to get a good look at Palestrike's poor condition. The elder was ragged and thin, aged beyond his days by the famine. Silver hair hung from his body like dead grass and his features were sunken. "Woah, Palestrike," Valtyr said in a concerned tone, dotted brows knitted together pensively, "you don't look so good. I mean... Since I saw you last." His tongue pressed against the back of his teeth, not wanting to sounds too rude... but the old man looked like his days were numbered.

A bear - he started to commend the boy, genuinely surprised by this statement, but was cut off when the boy's words stuttered and he, looking a bit like a kid who had just seen a zombie for the first time and wasn't sure if they should run, behead the beast, or try some jovial conversation to see if a friend was still inside the husk, changed the topic. Njal's own statement gone, he found himself wheezing softly as a coughing fit overtook him; but he was better after a few moments, and shook his head as if to dismiss the youngster's concern.

It took a second for him to compose himself better, and at this point he was so addled that Njal forgot who he was talking to. Famines are hard. 'Specially on the really young and really, really old. Not sure which one of those I fit in. He teased, but it was obvious that time and circumstance had left him withered, and that he was trying to make light of a terrible and ominous result. Meanwhile you, he got to his feet and slunk a step or two closer, then kinda... fell down to his haunches, his face scrunching with the effort of moving his angsty hip and leg, you're looking pretty healthy. Lucky you with your bear meat.

Valtyr took a concerned step forward when the old man started hacking up a lung, spittle spraying from the browned jowls of his once-strong jaw. "Hey, now," was all the boy could mumble, tone quiet with reassurance though his teeth clicked together with uncertainty. Eventually, the fit abated, though the elder's lungs strained for air with uncomfortable creaking noises. The firefoot felt wholly useless as the sentiment of 'nature's course' dawned on him; and while Valtyr knew there was almost nothing he could do for the Palestrike, it didn't stop him from feeling somber empathy. 

"Definitely young," he replied, humoring the wolf though his words felt hollow and trite in the face of a greater journey nearing its end. Njal stumbled closer and appeared to collapse. Anticipating a fall, Valtyr's reflexes spurred to jut himself forward, as if to try and catch the silver wolf. Oh wait... he was just sitting down. Relieved, Valtyr huffed as Palestrike rambled about bear meat. "Better than you, that's for sure," he retorted impishly. "We still have a bit left in our caches and I owe you for that rabbit. Why don't you come down to the Fen with me?" he offered.

The Fen? That where you've been hiding. He retorted, not thinking. It was an odd statement when one did not have all the facts. Had Njal known that his son had survived and been living so far south, maybe he would have led a happier life. Maybe he wouldn't have let himself go in such a manner. Tuwawi would still be with him, their life could be so much better if only he hadn't lost everyone, one by one. Ah, but now he was really showing his age — mentally sifting through his guilt-laden memories.

He cleared his throat again, and this time his breath did wheeze from him, but he did not fall to another spell of coughing. Njal was shaking his head a little while other thoughts popped in and out, but he fell oddly quiet and reflective for a minute or two. Whether he heard the offer or not, he didn't seem to react to it. Instead he focused on something else - something playing out in his own head while he watched the brand new shoots of grass twitch in the breeze.

Mentally he was looking down at the languid form of Tuwawi; reclined in all her fiery splendor within the shadows of the glen, with tiny bugs filled with light dancing around her face. To Njal she was right there, spread out before him, fat, and lazy, as if she were filled with an endless litter of babies. And she was smiling up at him; a dappling of light cascaded from above, catching in her eyes, turning them bright and gold, then green like the grass, and Njal smiled. 

If only.. Proudheart, he murmured, not having forgotten Valtyr in his entirety, but not entirely here himself. If only you could see him.