<style type="text/css">.njal{margin:auto; width:500px; text-align:justify;font-size:13px; font-family: 'Fanwood Text', serif; color: #222;} .njal q {color:#CC3300; font-family: 'Fanwood Text', serif; font-size:15px; font-weight:bold;} .njal p {margin:0px;text-indent:20px;}</style>
Up until the arrival of winter, Njal had secluded himself with his daughter. He had not seen much of Tuwawi since her return, likely because of his own self-imposed duties; he kept himself busy so he wouldn't have to face her, or what she had done in his absence. He only had to deal with Maera, to comfort her when memories of the good times rose up in her mind and withered her little heart, or keep a distant eye upon her while she wandered about during the day. Njal had relaxed considerably since returning home; he no longer kept Maera segregated from the pack nor did he watch over her every moment like a hawk. The girl was growing - she didn't need her father guarding her every second. As much as he'd like to.
It was early morning when he woke, and for a moment Njal was startled by the emptiness of the den. The pitter-patter of light rain as it fell through the trees. He lurched from the den entrance, carving a bit of the doorway away with one shoulder as he awkwardly angled himself - and was out of the den, tasting the chill in the air and feeling the rain's occasional tap. Sleep still clung to his faculties, and so, as the man walked, he gave a yawn and a small shake to rid the feeling from his mind. When he was stationed a few feet from the den mouth, he thought he saw... Something. A dark figure. In an instant he was striding closer, his fur spiking along his scruff - and he bayed a warning, in case this was someone who meant the pack ill.