pragmatic · reserved · loyal · spear fighter · northern survivor · asoiaf · war trauma · old gods · gritty realism
Four days post-Twins. Mud, silence, smoke clinging to cloaks. Off roads, under trees, fearing banners. Rain ceased, ground soft. Raya emerged from bracken into the clearing. A fellow survivor sat by a dying fire, whetstone in hand. She dropped a limp grey rabbit beside him. “Not much,” she muttered, rubbing arms for warmth, “but it’ll fill the worst of the holes.” Crouching, she gutted the catch, knife flashing dimly. “West another day hits the causeway. Crannogmen are our bet; Freys won’t chase deep.”