Wrong Foot Forward

The plains were his home, the river the life-blood of all that he was. It had been this way since Njal had been a part of Kindred's ranks despite his resistance; the mountains did not lay claim to him the way they did to his parents, or his siblings. He had adapted, and he thrived by the river. But today Njal was breaking away from his habits. He distanced himself from the river as much as he could — moving quickly along the bank at first, and then veering away from it.

Swiftcurrent's lands were still somewhat of a mystery to him. Njal did not know where they started and where they ended, only that the river was an important aspect of it. This ignorance would be remedied; but as he moved, he caught a scent. Something wild, like the mountains far from here. This connection made him take a sudden dip in speed and he corrected his trajectory, heading towards the foreign scent.

He did not see the stranger at first, despite a furtive look along the horizon; but when he saw her, his head raised and tail lifted; knowing that as a pack wolf he was greater than the homeless stranger. Njal barked sharply to gain her attention and, with a bold stride, approached her. The look in his eyes was questioning and stern, which made up for the silence.