It was easy to find his way towards the glacier. Easy to fall in to step between the two shadows and lead them towards his home - his once home - and it was strange to deviate from that natural path. He had to avoid the well worn route, and so he headed further north with the Tartok wolves at his flank. Then they made camp, settling among the crags of a foreign cliff face to wait out the night. Njal did not sleep well - he did not sleep at all, actually. The colors of the evening invigorated him; it was like finding the glacier for the first time, and he wasn't even laying eyes upon it. The man was reminded of the first journey. Of Larus being so fickle, and Jokull fighting to be in the forefront. They had all the world before them. As the sky darkened, deepening until night took hold, Njal's memories darkened with them. His mood soured, and he began to pace along the escarpment.

The bluff turned icy, but Njal did not notice. Nor did he notice that the two shadow women were not with him. But the murk of night would keep them well hidden, and if they followed, he would eventually find out. The mountain wasn't the easiest thing to navigate, but as soon as the earth gave way to ice fields and thick pine, he was at-ease. It was just like being home — not Duskfire, but his previous home. Markarth Peak. Njal hadn't thought back to his natal pack in years, but now as he slid from shadow to shadow, crunching through the thickening snow, he was reminded. His heart did not ache as it once did, and this surprised him.

Would the same happen with the glacier? With Tuwawi? Would Njal wake one morning and find his heart no longer empty, no longer hollow and aching for her? The ache he felt for his wife and home, for his children, it was all different. He was not saddened by their absence so much as gutted; and his love for Tuwawi was overshadowed by a strange sort of anger. He worried - passing by a sudden dip in the snow which ebbed in to a cliff face, which he narrowly avoided - he worried, for one day that anger might transmute itself in to hate, and then there would be no way for Njal to live with himself. If her actions caused him to hate, and to that degree, then he would truly be unfit for this world. How would Njal be able to look upon his children if all he saw was her, and if there brewed a great tumult within him?

The beast sighed a heavy breath, halting with a lurch and a crunch upon a great expanse of ice. The trees had fallen away from him as he marched - running, streaking like a silver bullet through the night - and now Njal was left in the open. The night sky was brimming with brilliance. The stars above shone down upon him, while his breath puffed in great bilious clouds; he panted readily, tasting the winter chill that was ever present upon the glacier, and when he turned his head - he saw it. Rising in the distance was Duskfire's crowning peak; he watched the stars, and wondered if maybe his children could see them too.

An empty wind whipped its way across the ice sheet, tousling his salt-and-pepper pelt, but hardly disturbing him otherwise. Njal stared up at the stars and wondered about them — their origins, their meanings to his faraway parents, to him if any such meaning existed, but all of this evaporated when a solemn voice penetrated his thoughts. Ears turned atop his head, catching the voice of the dark girl who had joined them - this girl who had no allegiance to him but to Tonravik - and he was silent. There were no words that he wished to share with her, as her own statement seemed rhetorical. A breath pulsed from his nose as he turned away from the starlight, looking sideways at the dark figure among the ice. She was easy to see now, despite the night. The snow around them was illuminated by moonlight - something Njal had not noticed until now, despite staring at the stars.

He shifted his weight, and then gradually moved towards her - taking a few slow steps, a true golem in the night - and then stood alongside her, craning his head up to watch the peak. There is much to learn about this place. His voice was a cool rumble, but not so lackluster as their prior conversation - if one could call his clipped words conversation at all. Things I should have investigated the first time around. With that said, Njal's voice drifted. It was almost like he spoke to the stars more than Echelon. The words were weighted, and fell away almost immediately. There was great sadness there, a story he could share, but the seriousness of his tone may have been off-putting.

The wolves of Tartok were a difficult kind. In his previous dealings with them, Njal had not been very enthused, nor was he eager to begin again; however, his meeting with Tonravik was something of a mystery. He had felt compelled to aid her then, and she now repaid that debt — but still, Njal was cautious. He did not know if trust could be shared with the twin shadows. Echelon's response was as bland as anything he would have expected from Tonravik, or even Siku herself; within those words could have been a threat to his kin of the glacier but no matter how hard he listened, Njal could not discern it. She seemed eager to get a move on while he, stoic in the face of what was to come, reveled in the shadow of the mountain.

To some degree she was correct. They should be moving upon the glacier and taking back what was his, forcing out the usurpers and those that lay in wait. Her eagerness was... Refreshing. At the same time, Njal was not so eager to return to his place at the head of the family - for what family remained? He had not been successful in finding Larus (or the poor child's body); he had not found Valtyr or Jokull anywhere among the ice. He would be returning empty-handed and empty-hearted to poor Maera, if she still lingered there, and her phoenix-mother, who no doubt harbored great anguish for their loss. Tuwawi was a passionate woman, he knew this, and he knew that such passion could be spoiled - had been spoiled.

They will be warmer. He commented, reflecting upon the coming spring and, hopefully, the warmth of a united family. But he said nothing further - and the silence which flowed from him alluded to the future, making him sound displeased with his present. Njal stopped focusing upon the stars, letting his eyes focus on the obscurity of the darkness - and then he closed his eyes, breathing in the taste of the winter air, the subtle spice that Echelon lent to it.

When he opened his eyes again, he was turning to look upon her - they were tired. Aged. Why do you follow Tonravik? His voice was not malicious, nor truly skeptical. He was curious but plain in his curiosity, and expected little from her answer. The wolves of Tartok were tight-lipped and boorish things, but so far Echelon had been more amiable than her sister-in-arms. Perhaps she could allay his misgivings. You were lost to one another, but now you are together - and there is no grudge between you. Maybe he could learn something - use this secret of these dark beasts, and be reunited with those that he loved.

Why not? It was a good response, but not enough. As if aware of this, Echelon's words flowed freely and without rancor; she spoke openly about forgiveness - no, not forgiveness exactly, but stillness. To hold no grudges, to let the pain of previous experience simply be, for a time, and then drift with the winds. To no longer be plagued to them - held captive by them - seemed impossible to Njal. He listened to her explanation but found himself souring to it. Echelon reminded him in that moment of their age difference, of all the things that Njal and the Sveijarn had faced together (and apart) which now colored his view of the universe. Things that Echelon knew nothing about (and he hoped, for her sake, she never had to deal with the pain of missing children). She sounded ignorant from his own perspective. The wisdom of Tartok appeared to have missed a generation. But he held his tongue and did his best to keep an open mind, for she was here, as was Tonravik, and they were going to help him. They knew the value of family even if they did not subscribe to his style of love-bound devotion. Perhaps that was enough.

Do you fear returning to your glacier? That you may be welcomed with teeth rather than submission?

Yes, he wanted to say. To admit the weakness that ran through his veins, pumped by the man's aching heart. Yes. For he expected only sadness and grief, anger and hatred and all manner of ill-will to be thrust before him. If Tuwawi remained upon the peak - ruled it as its true queen, the solitary heart of the mountain - then he expected an army of her most devoted warriors to greet him at the door. Perhaps, and Njal turned towards the stars once more as the thought formed within his mind, perhaps even strike him down. His failures deserved nothing less than this; abandoning his family was the greatest crime he could ever commit, and he had done it quickly. Left the glacier so that Tuwawi could suffer in her own errors, alone, so alone. He would ask for forgiveness - beg for it, if need be - but Njal knew it would be no use. He knew he did not deserve it.

But all of these thoughts were held close, filling his heart with dread, but never being spoken. To Echelon he gave only silence — and that in itself was an answer. Gradually he did begin to speak again, to walk again towards the distant peak which rose like a fang in to the night. My heart - Tuwawi - my aokatti, she waits for the day of my return. But I do not expect to be greeted with open arms. An open mouth, maybe. Njal flicked an ear back to catch anything that Echelon had to say to this, but continued to mosey. His gait was sluggish, no longer energized by the sight of the stars or his distant home - the kingdom he had forsaken. At this pace they would never make it.

Her announcement, as plain as it was, made him stop. He did not turn to listen further, rather, Njal held his position in the snow and felt the mention of his wife creep along his flesh - like an ember being dragged from point to point. Echelon did not say her name (and to be honest, Njal did not think he would be able to handle it if she had), but the mention of their previous interaction seared him deeply. Njal had said her name only moments prior, but it was different. He sounded empty as the syllables slipped from his lips, while Echelon was reverent; paying respect to a woman she only knew as a part of Tartok, a part of a distant, eclectic family. That alone elevated Tuwawi above the norm, likely to Echelon as well as Tonravik, and he - Njal - should have held the same view. But for him Tuwawi was something else now. She was a fire, an inferno, but had become a distant thing. An unreachable, unconquerable goal. The unyielding phoenix - and not his any longer.

These thoughts flitted through him quickly, and faded when he began to march once more. Solemn. Until Echelon asked something new - something Njal had yet to truly face. Why did you leave her behind, alone there on that glacier? Facing away from the dark girl, Njal visibly flinched; he grit his teeth to fight the urge of baring them, and sucked in a breath of ice. Tonravik learned her lesson, not to leave me behind again. Misfortune appears to follow it.

We left our friends in order to make our own way, and brought our children along. The glacier was meant to be our fortress. Njal explained this swiftly, with clipped words - disinterested in telling her of every detail. It was not important now. Our youngest was stolen from us and I... I did what any father would. I pursued, hoping to find him - or a trace of him. Again Njal stopped walking; he stared in to the snow drifts adjacent as if imagining the event, watching it play out between the rocks. When I returned.. The other children were gone. Tuwawi was gone. And he was made bitter, so bitter. The anger resided within him now but it had cooled; still, Njal did not trust himself. I tried to care for our remaining daughter, and yet... I found myself hating her, too. At this he turned - a look of panic upon his face, filling the gold of his eyes with a sudden electric vibrancy.

Hating her - my own blood. The last piece of family I had left. It was pathetic. Njal had never voiced this before. He was the calm one, even in defeat, the immovable mountain. Tuwawi had been the fire, the heart, the ferocity that kept him going. He did not know what to expect by telling Echelon this — but maybe it just needed to be said. Maybe the tale just needed to exist in the empty space of the north. Tuwawi returned, but she returned alone. And I despised her for that. I chose to leave, to make her become a mother again, without me by her side. I was so angry- Njal kicked at a nearby clump of snow, and watched as it drifted, finding a place upon the untouched patches around them both; the snow settled, as if he had never made the move. A great breath eased from him. -and so I left.

That is why I left her behind. So tell me, dark one, The life seemed to drain from him now, as Njal slowly turned to look upon the young girl; his expression was hollow, just like that first meeting between the trio just days ago. How do I restore my family when I don't deserve to share the air they breathe?

There was really nothing she could say to ease his fears, or his pain, but Njal was open-minded enough to listen. At her age, Echelon had been through many things - but nothing that compared to his losses, or anything close to the choices he had made. So when she spoke, he mentally braced himself, and was not too surprised to hear the words that came from her lips. Had they met months ago, back when Njal was truly seething, he would have turned upon her and cut her down; however, he returned to the wilds as a changed man. Rather, he liked to think of himself as changed - but the pain was still there, a simmering ember that occasionally licked at old wounds.

Even now you act as though you are alone when you also follow Tonravik. The shadow commented warily, before bringing Tuwawi back in to the conversation. A part of him did want to lurch forth and give her a good slap across the face for that - but Njal was still. Frozen by a tumult of other thoughts and considerations. He made one quick correction to what Echelon said: Tonravik follows me. The haste in which he said this made Njal sound hostile, sharp-tongued and snappy, and he was quicker still to move on before Echelon could question his words.

There is only myself to blame. I chose to patrol the glacier's edge, I chose to look outward for threats instead of in. Had I been more attentive, more attuned to my own family and not the land itself, none of this would have happened. But... You are right. He had spent months blaming himself instead of his wife, himself instead of the others of his pack, always returning to his own faults and failures. If they were to reclaim the glacier then all of this self pity would have to end; or at the very least, be hidden away where it could do no harm. I should not have fled, nor given in to my anger so readily.

Still, one conversation with a stranger was a far cry different from the conversation he would have to have with Tuwawi. If she accepted his presence at all - which again, Njal's emotions told him was unlikely at best. A heavy sigh pushed its way from him again, and then the man was silent - brooding still, but growing distant as his mind wandered towards the distant mountains.

He took her advice now, while a spark of irritation festered beneath the skin, but did not act upon it. When she chose to drop the conversation entirely, Njal was not too surprised - but then she boldly took the lead, and he frowned at her retreating figure; how childish the girl had become - and why? Because of his quip about Tonravik? Echelon knew nothing of their arrangement, or if she did she acted obtuse on purpose. Had she known, surely the comment would not have been so hard to swallow. But no matter - the trio would march upon the glacier soon, to reclaim that which was his. While the dark silhouette of the girl slipped ahead (blending in with the uneven darkness quickly) Njal trudged on behind.