As summer moved slowly on, the arrival of the Sveijarn pups got closer and closer. It wasn't time yet. There was still a week or so to go, not that Njal knew that. He had tried to lessen his patrols and spend more time with Tuwawi, who rested in their den; however, with the threat of Jace's pack becoming a real thing, other thoughts surfaced in the warden's mind. He began to divert his patrols around the mountains, as if the wall that they provided had been breached. The strenuous work of climbing a mountain in the middle of summer was intense for the winter beast; his weight began to strip from him over the course of days, as extra fat became muscle.
On one of these winding patrols, Njal sought out the relief of shade within the distant forest. A day of careful observation of the mountainside had left his body strained and worn, but there was no stopping. He moved as if entranced by something otherworldly; pulled in to the depths of the forest by the curve of the mountain. The shadows swallowed him up and, for the first time in weeks, Njal found a quiet place. A soothing place. He rested in the crooked root system of some old trees, and when he awoke, there was little memory of how he arrived there.
But it was morning, and he felt rested. Forest detritus had become netted in his fur, soil streaked his chin and cheeks, and his pelt stuck out in unruly clumps. How long was I asleep? He thought to himself as he roused, lethargic and affected by a strange humidity that sank between the trees. He was groggy as he began to walk, not quite fully awake, and wove a lazy path in the deep of the forest.