Deepwood Weald while I burst into flames

actually screams

The old man's ears folded back upon his head when he heard the drawled tone of the boy's voice. He almost turned to shush him a second time, but the boy was already well on his way to another topic - and this one made him nod glumly. Many wolves came from the north, himself included, and he did not recognize the names of any of the packs that were listed. When he'd had enough of the stranger's explanation, Njal's pace increased slightly, and he prepared himself to leave the boy with the rabbit as if he'd never come across him — but then he heard the last bit.

That name.

It made the man's paws crunch upon the withered debris as he halted abruptly, and with a strangely agile sweep of his head and torso, he was shifting to face the boy; Njal's expression lost its usual grim appeal as his eyes narrowed, and he studied the brackish figure before him, silent, and obviously very intense as he mapped his features.

Did he dare mention his own name? What good would that do for this boy - my boy? But he needed to be sure. He needed to know if this was indeed the same — I'm getting ahead of myself, he thought suddenly. The man exhaled, the sound whistling through his nose, and instead of bringing up any of the shadows from his own past for the sake of gaining some answers, he simply stated: I'm... Sometimes called Palestrike. He felt shaken to the core by his discovery, but Njal knew that he had a limited time before his health ran out - he was not about to burden this boy with a haggard old father at this point.

He felt his heart thrum with a spark of something, a flicker, like a match being struck; yet he still turned from Valtyr and he still made his way, escaping - perhaps for the last time - from the responsibilities he once held. It is for the best, he thought to himself, although Njal would doubt this decision for the rest of his sorry life.