Swiftcurrent Creek The Small Print

Tuwawi rattled off a series of statements that made little sense to Njal; something about food, about plundering a cache, being lost, not finding someone. It mattered little to him in those first few moments. But he came back to himself. He held her close, comforted by the familiarity that she possessed; he was about to speak when his stomach roared, and gave away true sentiment. Yes, perhaps that was why he had wandered. The caches around their den had been depleted and it was his duty to replenish them. Her question about his head went by without a single trace of recognition - and the beastly man, this thing which stood where Njal should have been, blinked blankly at the red woman. "I am hungry, let us hunt." For is that not what wolves did? Chase prey, corral it, take it down?

He stepped away from her then. Uncoiling briskly from her. Staggering. The man swallowed what felt like a stone in his throat, and tasted dryness; followed swiftly by a heat that spread across his forehead. It felt like tired muscle, like a yawn being held within the lungs, a pressure but not a grand one. Enough to make him pause and reconsider, to adjust his steps and fall towards Tuwawi for support. He rested his head upon her shoulders - across them - and in that way, breathed her in. "There are small things in the trees," he rumbled cryptically. Ears flicked to the sides at first, then back, then forward; unable to contend with the feeling of being watched as it grew inside of him. But he remained close to Tuwawi, affording her warmth with his body, while his mind travelled. "Rabbits and the like, near the river. Why would you go to the marsh?" The man asked with a pointed scoff, sounding incredulous and sharp in his disdain. "You could freeze out there. Then I'd be alone."