The ivory man’s answer to Týr’s question - that despite the fact that he really wasn’t trying to pry, was personal nevertheless - was exceedingly straightforward and simple. According to Njal he could not return and Týr gave a curt nod of acceptance because the Viking boy understood that it was not really any of his business in the first place. Njal could have just as easily told him to get lost - as would have been the older man’s right. In disparity, Týr was not opposed to speaking of his own birth pack, then again, granted he could return whenever he wanted, unlike Týr assumed at any rate given the information he had received, Njal. While Týr was wanting Odinn’s Cove in the alien-like world of Swiftcurrent Creek, the young Nord was nothing if not at least adaptable; and on the off chance that he wasn/t adaptable Týr was at least stubborn enough not to give up before he had even given anything much of a chance. It was true that he did not know Fox, but he would follow her, nevertheless; just as he did not know the customs of this pack (for surely they differed greatly from the ones he was inherently used to) but he would carry his own weight and contribute anything and everything he could to it - to them.
As they walked Týr listened attentively as Njal opened up a bit about his birth pack (at least Týr assumed it was such) albeit silently. At the present moment Týr did not feel the need to put words into any sort of response to what Njal chose to share with him, instead favoring a soft smile that unintentionally mirrored the older male’s own. In their similarities to one another, Týr did not find himself missing his homelands so much, anymore; and while Njal was not excessively talkative Týr enjoyed the other Northerner’s company, and began to feel the seeds of respect, different as it was from the given respect of rank, being sown.
Týr slowed when he noticed Njal’s pace slowing, the Nord giving pause when Njal halted suddenly. Confusion played across Týr’s facial expressions for a few seconds as he glimpsed around before he, with a sheepish twitch of his lips, followed Njal’s gaze, abysmal pupils widening in their pools of crystal blue as Týr took in the sculpture that stood upon what he ascertained to be a burial mound. Despite that it’s head was a little ways from where Týr assumed it was supposed to be, the rudimentary shape gave clarity to the form of the bear, nevertheless. Just as Týr was about to inquire as to whom the burial site belonged to, Njal beat him to the punch, speaking before the young Nord could let the words slip forth from betwixt his lips. “Yes,” Týr confirmed - answering both of Njal’s questions in one, simple response - in muted tones, not daring to speak any louder in the presence of the previous leaders’ grave. Týr did not know the woman that rested beneath the earth here, but was respectful, nevertheless. “Did you do this by yourself?” A small voice guessed that Njal had, but Týr did not want to assume despite that the tradition was more or less seemingly exclusive to the North and the way Njal spoke until Týr’s arrival Njal had been the only Northerner; however, it was not fair to assume that none would assist even if it wasn’t their traditions.
It was an impressive sight even if it marked the passing of a previously important figure to Swiftcurrent Creek.
a crime so old as the sky and bone