As it was, Njal began to patrol the borders without breaks. He ate little. Hours slipped by slowly as he loomed upon the borders, checking for new scents and strangers who might dare to tresspass - Njal would not allow it. The hours stretched on, and he was peaceful amongst the snow. Calmed by the falling flakes and the familiar chill that winter wrought across the plains. His mind drifted when he grew tired, but still, the sentry was in place. Wandering along the southern border, up the west where a mountain rested like a natural guardian; he mused to himself about how similar this place was to Kindred. How much he missed it, Sterntooth, and the others. Winter Ivy popped in to his mind then. The petite and refined girl who he had quietly been smitten with, although even in this moment he was not fully aware of how attached he had been. Thoughts of the winter beauty were lost when he met Proudheart; her fire melted what imaginings he had of her, and now he was fully consumed by it.
He wandered. Seeking out scents casually now that his body grew tired. Njal's steps grew short and quick, then short and slow, and eventually he sloshed his way through the north of the territory in a sleepy fog.
"Njal."
The wind whispered to him through the distant trees, across the plains and around his blocky body. He was lulling in to a slumber as he walked, and this sound made him perk up - to awaken, he thought, and stop to listen. When no further sound came to him he let out a thoughtful sigh. It must have been his mind playing tricks; he was so tired now. But there was still work to do.
"Njal, come," The voice said now. Bright and crisp as if spoken from beside him. Njal stopped and turned sharply with his fur bristling, and while he was prepared in an instant for the coming stranger, there was nobody to greet his eyes. His fangs bared briefly, and his head lowered in defense of whoever watched him - he thought to call out, but the snow grew thicker as it fell. There was nothing out here. He was tired.
The man decided to stop and rest. He sought out a small grove of trees that could shelter him from the weather, seeking out the familiarity of the river as he went. Upon stopping the man sat with his shoulder pressed against the tree, drifting in and out of lethargy, until his eyes closed for good.
Around him there was ice. Sheets of it - perpetual layers of flat, cold, hard ice. He looked up at the sky and expected snow to fall. The stars were there, but only briefly. How had he gotten here? A star snuffed out behind his head. Where was the snow? Two more, blinking and going black.
Dreams were inconsistent things and Njal, as unimaginative as he was, could not tell that he was drifting.
He was on a single ice flow now; a bulky figure with uneven footing, surrounded by ocean for miles. He looked out over the ocean and deep in to it, where the depths were black. Was he alone? He didn't feel alone. The stars were gone though, leaving only the moon for company. What was going on?
"Njal,"
His name again - this time he did not react out of defense or fear. He looked to his right where the sound came from, and the ice was gone. Njal was standing on the green plains of Kindred again - a circle of wolves around him, faceless, unrecognizable. Just figures that he could not look directly at. "No," The voice sternly rose against him and it felt like it's rumble could have broken him in to pieces. He flinched and sank down upon his belly.
And he was on the ice again. Running, this time. Dashing across it with more speed than he could have had - and he wasn't alone. There was something running with him. It's strides were shorter and it sounded less like paws, more like cracking. As if the ice could not handle each step the thing took. Njal could not move his head - he could only move forward. It was then that he saw a star in the sky, a single star. Red and bright. Shining - no, falling and he was racing to catch it before it hit the ground.
"Yes, come,"
The ice transitioned in to mud. Grass. And Njal was once again confused; he did not have a voice and so he could not speak or question - he could only look on with a lost expression at the unknown landscape around him. The star was still falling but it was out of his reach. Every time he raced for it, the grass would rise up as trees and wall him off - preventing him from going anywhere else.
Still he tried. Something made him keep going, keep seeking out that single falling star. The world around him became ice once again but this time it was thin, precariously so. The ocean licked at his toes and he felt the chill of it strike deep. He couldn't run further because there was no more land - only ocean. Only cold. But he was so close! The fire burned a wolf-length away from him now, bright and white and blue, not red. Or both. He couldn't tell what color - just that it was hot and reaching for him, wanting him close. As he reached he felt himself slipping, his legs plunging in to the water. Around him was the ocean and he sank in to it; struggling at first, wanting the fire and not the cold. Wanting whatever it was he struggled for - and then he was swallowed by darkness.
When Njal woke he was soaking wet. He jolted awake and the morning sun gleamed down at him, blinding him, and the man blinked away the fierce light. He rolled and felt the earth beneath him squish and crackle with ice; but not just ice, there was mud here too. With a sloshing step the groggy man got to his paws and, with his body dripping and covered in the soggy soil of the wetlands, he began to march his tired self back home. The dream for now, was forgotten - although he was quite confused by his new location. He must have been sleeping and patrolling at the same time to reach this place. It was the only logical conclusion, and Njal was too tired to think about it further.