Waterfowl

Many things had happened in the time that Njal had been with his wife - and now he was more than ready to get back to things. The man had tried to hurry himself in to a mental state for work; knowing that his rank was sliding, knowing that the pack needed him. News of Bones' departure reached him swiftly and it soured his mood further, thinking, If only I had been there, perhaps things would have gone differently. Another set of fangs could have saved her from the Tortuga wolves.

Njal was thus on edge about his patrol. He lingered near the creek's heartland for only an hour or so before growing too restless, and diverted his usual course. He headed for the meadow first, passing by Duck Lake for a quick taste of the water and a brief look around - and as he got nearer to the meadow, a fresh scent caught his attention. It was rugged and solitary, that scent. Where Njal imagined to taste the sea - in case it was a returned Tortuga wolf - he instead found nothing but earth and trees upon the air; this was clouded by the perfume of many flowers as well, which he was quick to circumvent.

The man adjusted his route and it curled around towards the falls, and on a quick judgement call Njal hiked towards the river's narrowing gap - back to the beginning of his patrol, apparently - and it was then that the scent grew heavier. A hungry step devoured the land around him as he moved towards the lake's edge, perusing the still surface which reflected a blanket of cloud cover; but there, on the farther edge from him, was a silhouette. Njal raised his head as if to promote a greatness that he felt he possessed, and marched onwards towards the figure - slowing to a stalk, to a stop entirely, when he was close enough to be seen. A silent warden, for now.