One last time, Mjolnir walked the bounderies of the holler, his steps slow, not from age or injury, but from concentration. This warding, his last, would have to last a long while.
Isis had promised to keep a mental "eye" on the property - but there would be only so much even so powerful a familiar could do at her distance. The young one wouldn't be ready to do his own castings for some time.

If a cat could grin,Mjolnir would have, thinking of his youngest son. Abiram, the youngster called himself. Abiram. He knew from his own Naming that Sharon would think she had chosen the name herself, but it was the young tom who had chosen how he would be called in the human tongue. Not a bad legacy, mused Mjolnir, to leave in the world.

Now his steps did grow weary, the last of the bounds and wards completed, he returned to the cabin and the porch where he had spent so many years. Curling on the cushion of the rocking chair he let go, finally, of the determination that had carried him through this last little while and as he fell asleep, it seemed as if the summer sun were warming him, and he felt the touch of a hand stroking him lightly.

And as the last breath left the body of the battered and aged tom, a voice seemed to whisper "Well done, well done my good and faithful servant. rest now and join your beloved friends."