Duck Lake I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife

@Tonravik @Echelon - just so you know, he hears Ton's howl and is howling a response. You can arrive and thread if you want, or this can be AW.

The shadow which persisted within his hollow heart had somehow, perhaps through his own desperation, found shape and form. He found this void in the emptiness of the north; it was not what he sought, but perhaps had been what he needed. With the shadow there came conflict, bloodshed, and the discovery of something he thought he had lost. Njal passed through a crucible of sorts and came out of it a changed man — hollow still, but with the shadow to guide him. An ally, where once he persisted in solitude upon the ice.

She was family now. She was Tartok; a piece of his past, and now a stalwart reminder of his present. A future presented itself to him on that fateful day among the pines. This is why he returned - the Sveijarn patriarch, the hollow man of days ago. He did not pursue his fire. His route did not turn north for that was where he came from - no, Njal's path crossed in to the frozen wetlands first of all, in pursuit of the shadow, and then around the lands of Scimitar.

The shadow was faster than he; she was less afraid of discovery, and prowled across the plains without issue. Njal did not do this. He was slow and steady, navigating along animal pathways and near the less familiar groves which dotted the endless flatland, until the dark woman had gone too far. He was left on his own to prowl the edge of the familiar lake, to test its frozen edges with a careful thrust of his wide paws cross the surface.

He thirsted, but did not seek to drink. Njal's efforts to break the ice were paltry indeed, so as not to invite the attention of a patrol or spook any of the wildlife. The fewer clues of his re-appearance, the better. The wandering man had no inclination to answer any questions, and was astute enough to hide himself from the attention of others; he only hoped the diligence of the Creek wolves had slackened in recent days, or else his efforts would be in vain.

Njal stood astride a thick portion of the ice, his rear half upon the soil of the bank. He prepared to try again with his breaking efforts, but as he slipped his paws side-by-side, he heard a familiar voice.

Tonravik. She was still here - their deal had not yet expired. Her voice carried high from the south, from the meadow. He raised his head - forgetting briefly about his desire to remain anonymous - and loosed a returning song.