Swiftcurrent Creek not a miracle in years

The fire had led him here. Across the pale plains in the dark. From one body of water to another, he had followed her, reluctant, and now defensive. If only because he was home now, and it was his duty. Still, Njal trailed along without the swagger his rank afforded. He looked more like a wanderer himself. Dull eyes upon the figure before him, who found her way to the water's edge and traipsed to-and-fro in a state of limbo. Stay here, or pass over the line. Howl, or stay silent. He watched her and felt the pressure in his chest intensify - a sense of worry, guilt, adoration, it was all muddied up inside of him.

Njal breathed the chilled air and got a mouthful of Proudheart's perfume. Somehow, her smell relaxed him - but it was momentary, it passed, leaving him stale and empty. The man was unsure of himself. Left standing alone in the cold with his fire just out of reach. With a careful stride he approached her. Letting out a soft wuff of air to alert her of his presence, if his scent had not already. Regardless, he could not look her in the eye.