"I cannot." Njal responded rather bluntly, and then silenced. He imagined the north often in his travels, and would end up heading in to the colder regions of the world during his travels, but it was never the same. To go back meant there had to be something to go back to, and in the three years since his departure from the peak, Njal had never found the proper route. He did not realize of course, that his family was on another continent altogether - that there was no likelihood of him ever seeing his birth family again. The man thought to include these details as he walked with Sveinn along the river; but he was so caught up in the thoughts that he could not voice them.
“I hail from a place known as Odinn’s Cove, it’s Jarl, their leader is my father, Ragnar. It is, we have spoken the old tongue since the pack’s founding generations ago,” Sveinn's voice carried on, perhaps to break the silence that had brewed once Njal got to thinking. He broke his concentration over things that could not be changed, and flicked his ears to cup the accent of the boy. “I still use it, even though many do not speak it here.”
Njal smiled when the information gathered in his mind, for it was always good to hear of the success of fellow wolves. It meant that the old ways persisted, and this made the Delta very happy indeed. "My own family was old blood, and due to their location they accumulated other northern cultures through the years. It changed the core of the pack very little, from what the elders used to tell me." The two wolves had more in common than either of them knew; with Njal's family being primarily a mix of Slavic and Nordic creatures. He could still recall his arrival in the Seahawk Valley and how odd the languages sounded to his ears - and how long it took for him to learn English. A smaller memory, of a sweet natured pale woman, surfaced then. Belaja Dama, his mind muttered - she had taught him much of what he knew now.
The man's pace slowed suddenly, and he halted. The pair had moved so briskly along the river's edge that they had reached the burial mound of Lethe, which rose as a decrepit and abstract sculpture before them. The bear's head had lost its balance and rolled from its perch, and the sight of it brought a disagreeable chuff out of Njal. "Perhaps you recognize this tradition." Njal said as he motioned towards the mound, and then began to step around it, observing the deterioration. "I built this in honour of our previous leader. The bear has significance in the Old Ways, doesn't it?" A small smile drifted across his face as he turned his eyes upon the chocolate-coated boy, wondering many things. The look shifted to the bear figure again, and trailed to the base - where Lethe's body was sitting, now thawing with the oncoming spring.