Firefly Glen you're familiar like my mirror years ago

Valtyr took a concerned step forward when the old man started hacking up a lung, spittle spraying from the browned jowls of his once-strong jaw. "Hey, now," was all the boy could mumble, tone quiet with reassurance though his teeth clicked together with uncertainty. Eventually, the fit abated, though the elder's lungs strained for air with uncomfortable creaking noises. The firefoot felt wholly useless as the sentiment of 'nature's course' dawned on him; and while Valtyr knew there was almost nothing he could do for the Palestrike, it didn't stop him from feeling somber empathy. 

"Definitely young," he replied, humoring the wolf though his words felt hollow and trite in the face of a greater journey nearing its end. Njal stumbled closer and appeared to collapse. Anticipating a fall, Valtyr's reflexes spurred to jut himself forward, as if to try and catch the silver wolf. Oh wait... he was just sitting down. Relieved, Valtyr huffed as Palestrike rambled about bear meat. "Better than you, that's for sure," he retorted impishly. "We still have a bit left in our caches and I owe you for that rabbit. Why don't you come down to the Fen with me?" he offered.