The fallout of his visit to the Sunspire had not occurred yet, and Njal trusted in the threats the two fools had given him. Their incursion upon the cliff-side had left him nervous. He returned to the creek with his companions and they dispersed, off to attend to further duties. He was no different. The urge to march around the territory was great, and so he went off as soon as the creek came in to view—moving along the river's edge, around the sparse tree line, northward until shallows came in to view. As his path wove towards the den he shared with Tuwawi, he became alerted to a scent upon the air... And this, coupled with the furious devotion that had risen within him since returning, prompted the warden to launch in to a run. As tired as he was (physically, mentally,) Njal was filled with a new kind of adrenaline.
He arrived at the den within minutes of the last birth, but he didn't know. The scent of blood and fluid was overwhelming, and at first he was afraid to look inside. He paced near the mouth of the den, glancing away from the entrance whenever a sound broke the stillness of the area. When he finally gathered his thoughts and untangled a bit of the rat's nest that had become of his nerves, Njal dipped his nose in to the darkness. There was a scent under the blood that was familiar, of course. Tuwawi's musk was inviting enough. But what caught his attention was another, newer scent. He drifted closer, careful not to step upon the bundles that were so carefully arranged.
As soon as his eyes fell upon them, Njal sucked in a sharp breath—releasing it slowly, while his eyes grew wide. His mouth opened as if to speak, but not a sound came out. The Russian's brain could not fathom words, but the look within his eyes as they trailed from the children to his wife spoke volumes.