Wrong Foot Forward

They walked in tandem for some time. It passed slowly at first, and then dully. The length of space between them did increase as they moved across the plains, but Njal did not let her leave his sight. She was not permitted to return to the area and he would escort her out — whether that meant dragging her, or keeping his distance, she was not welcome. However, the man felt a twinge of guilt within his chest. The evaporation of his enthusiasm to defend his home. A lessening of purpose.

And when she finally had enough of her sullen shadow, she turned to confront him. Their eyes met and he watched the tremble of her features, the willpower that she held to keep her cool despite being thoroughly irritated. It was here that they would part ways. She was silent but it was enough to tell him, his method had been correct, and there would be no further incident — alas, Njal felt himself wishing that she would have put up more of a fight. Any fight, really.

"You are not a good fighter." He suddenly commented, and broke the stillness with the curt refusal of her gaze; having his eyes flicker away from her in a small sign of deference, as if their spat had never happened. Peculiar behaviour indeed. Njal must have gone a little crazy during those months of solitude, for he couldn't let her leave. His voice fell to silence for a moment, letting her digest the words, before he continued, overriding whatever she may have said as a retort, if anything. "You are clumsy, and move like a baby seal who does not know the water around it."

A moment again. His voice, deep and rumbling from disuse, lifted in to the air.

"If you come back here, I will chase you again." A promise. An offer, as well, which was hinted at with a raise of his brow; Njal turned his eyes upon her again, finally, and let a little mirth ignite within them, letting out a shine. "Perhaps you will get better." He finished, with a subtle nod of his head and a turn of his body - he made a few steps as if to return in the direction of the river territory, crunching snow with a few slow steps, but he stopped and watched her as if waiting for a response.