Neverwinter Forest At the edge of the woods

It was obvious what the stranger wanted, and yet Njal felt the need to press him all the same. Until he started talking, of course. At that point Njal decided he really didn't give a damn about why, and observed the newcomer as if he were staring at a tree, or a rock, or some other thing that was incredibly prolific and commonplace. He grunted again when the stranger named himself, and murmured sullenly, The pack ain't mine, before turning around. It looked as if her were about to leave, but then the old man breathed a slow inhalation, and belted in to the forest: @Scimitar!

That should've been enough to usher the alpha their way, coupled with the excessive howling by Faolan. When the northerner turned back to the boy, he began to examine him. Those old eyes narrowed, the scar that long ago tore through his brow looked as if it formed one solid line across his face, at least until his eyes opened properly again. He lurched suddenly in Faolan's direction and marched closer, sniffing rather obnoxiously at the air surrounding him, and once Njal appeared content by what he found, he stopped. You look fit enough. Seem t'be surviving these hard times pretty good, at some point Njal's use of the common tongue became inundated with contractions and slang, apparently. Oh well, old age had its quirks. Where'd you come from, and why'd you leave that place?

If it were up to Njal, he'd have chased this kid off the moment he heard his summons. But it wasn't, so he may as well keep him occupied until someone higher up the food chain came calling.