Duskfire Glacier Illusions of the sunlight.

Malachi realized his mistake the moment the words slipped from his mouth and he clicked his jaws shut. Too late. He suddenly felt too close to the man and he stiffened, drawing his ears against his skull in preparation for the lashing he assumed would follow his naively spoken words. What had made him even think it wise to say anything at all?

If Malachi had seen Njal shift from a scowl to a stare of neutrality, he would not have given it much weight in determining how to approach the Northerner next. Njal was no doubt concealing everything he wanted to spew in response to the youth's tactless inquiry: the fire in his words was telling enough. He failed to hide his pain and, though Malachi felt sorrow for the man, he felt a stir of fear that did not subside even after Njal resorted to a tone less fierce.

The youth found himself in an awkward situation, and he turned his own eyes to the ground and shifted from paw to paw. He believed Njal to have spoken his statement as a standalone: I don't know what to do... and I don't expect you to, either. At least, this was what Malachi told himself to judge whether or not the man expected his help. He didn't even know if he could help the father, and any comfort he tried to give would only prove superficial in the grander scheme. Besides, it wasn't like he'd done much good in bringing his own parents through their misery. Could he really do any different here? Unsettled and at a loss, the youth fell silent, despite the desire to do something to ease the burden the grieving father bore.