Smoke danced across the frosty air, a woman and her child cowered before you. The blood on your rusted blade was still warm, her man’s blood. Her wrinkled arms pulled the child closer as she pointed at a small cabinet at the side of a bed. You nearly ripped the door from its hinges to look inside. A few copper coins, one silver and a few trinkets. Your hand swept the contents into the worn burlap sack you carried. The two wept as the screams of their friends and neighbours filled the air. The sight of a shining ring caught your eye.
“The ring.” Your voice came out, raspy from the strings of flem in your throat.
“No, please, it’s all I have left of him!” She begged.
“The ring or the boy.” The words left your lips with a smile. The woman looked at her child, the same light, tear filled eyes looked back at her. Her head dropped, and a sob escaped her as she let go of the boy. Betrayal, guilt, trauma.
“Remember this child, remember who offered you like a lamb to wolves.”
You yanked the woman’s hand forward as she kicked and screamed. The child scurried to the corner like a rat, the scene of you cutting off his mother’s ring finger reflected in his blue eyes.
The sight of you tossing the finger into the blood soaked snow, a gold and ruby ring now on your own finger. Furs on your back, blue tattoos etched in your skin, other wildings greeting you with their own spoils from the bloodshed. Never would he forget. Never would he forgive. Another story added to the mountain of tales they had about your people.
Vigyn had a grin on his face, flecks of blood blended in with his freckles. His bags filled with armour and weapons.
Your own bags were filled with more treasured possessions like jewellery, things people cherished from the moment they got it to the moment you ripped it away from them. Things that you would enable to barter away, with other free folk or with the slavers that hung around Hardhome waiting to catch their prey.
“I say we go to Mole’s town, and teach those southerners the value of life” The cockiness was evident in Vigyn’s voice as he spoke.
“Just think of it! There were already goods here, imagine the richness of Mole’s town. We’d live like kings” Ygla nodded excitedly at Vigyn’s proposition.
“Mole’s town is just moments from Castle black boy. What do you think would happen should we attack?” Grunard spoke calmly with an air of assertiveness. A grumble of a hum racked the salvia in your throat.
“We have a skinchanger with us! Hog will scout ahead to see if there are any crows and when the time is right we descend on them.” Vigyn pleaded, Grunard hummed, and in an instant all eyes were on you.
“Well Hog, it’s up to you” Your eyes drifted to Vigyn’s, he could be here, he could call himself a man, but he was a foolish boy in your eyes. A black bile filled your heart, you longed to squander the boy’s hopes. However, gold was gold.
“Fine, but you're on your own. You want food hunt it, you want gold take it. Here you followed Grunard around like a pup. In Mole’s town, you will be on your own” His delusions blinded him,
And there it was left, the conversation in that now broken town. It had been raided before, with each slaughter it became a little less. You took what you could from them, making them even smaller than they already were. But what did that matter? Life was easy here, In mere months the earth would soften and there would be plenty to eat.
You looked at Vigyn and Ygla, both so young, only just becoming adept at killing, It came easy to you. Death was a part of life in the north, children would die from fever, men would die from hunger.
The plan was settled, you would raid through Mole’s town, a hurricane of torment would come upon its people. Just as quickly as you could come you would go. You have raided the metropolis before, it's tall stone buildings as if built by the gods. Who else could inspire such works? There were crows the last time you were there, breaking vows. You had bludgeoned a man while he was still inside a woman, she wailed and sobbed. But it got you the sword you carried now.
The now familiar streaks of pinks and oranges coloured the skies. Night would come soon, the warm air of the south would stay, along with the smell pig shit. As you tossed you bag towards the fur lined sleeping bag Ygla came up to you.
"Are you going to do it?" She asked a hint of trepidation in her voice.
"Do what?" The words crawling from your throat
"Skinchange" Her eyes wide, fear, respect all swirls in those hazel irises.
Your body slumped down to sit as if it was falling. A grunt slipped from your throat as the familiar chills climbed up your spin. You were talented in a lot of areas, killing, the fiddle, tanning leather. But above all else, the skill you used to define the outlines of the soul, skinchanging. Others claimed to need a bond to enter into an animal's mind. But what did they know? Your eyes rolled far back into your skull.
Your breath slowed, skin cold, mists of colours flowed pass as if you could see them. A black form came into this distorted view. Clearer and clearer it became, beady eyes. Feathers the Colour of tar. A raven. The bird squawked and thrashed as you forced your way in. Power, control. The ease of it lit your skin aflame. Then sight, true sight. Moles town.
The merchants, the roads, the tall stone buildings they came into view as your sharp eyes settled on the people, fine linens and cottons under furs. Some with flowers brought to life in the fabric. The sun was setting, its golden light shown onto the pale faces of the people, turning them to gold. Mothers dragged their children in from playing as shops closed their doors. It was only a 3-hour walk, by the time you would get there It would dark. A perfect city ripe for the taking.
You slipped from the trance like falling out of a dream, you jerked forward as you saw out of your own eyes again. Canines shown in the setting sun as a greedy smile crept onto your face.
The sound of breaking bones rang through the air as you caved in the man’s skull, the fat body slumped over the burning anvil, It wouldn't hurt him, he was already dead. You flung open the chest across the room, throwing the chain mail and gauntlets into the sack tied to your back. You threw your old sword to the side as a bright gleaming blade came into view. You gazed at the ornate steel before you. What a fine blade it was, probably for some high up lord in his tall castle. It fit into your own hand just as well, you strode towards the door and kicked it open. People ran for their lives, their screams filled the air. Of course the guards had made trouble when you first came, but with a few fires set they were quickly made busy when their own homes were being destroyed.
Vigyn ran out from a home, his teeth ripping through hard salt beef. His eyes caught yours as a boyish grin came onto his face.
An arrow pierced his eye digging deep into his skull, Your head whipped around to the source of the shot, ten men in black cloaks rode towards you, Crows. Thoughts ran through your brain a mile a minute as Vigyn wailed like a babe. He reached out for you, begging.
You tore away from the boy, running as fat as your legs could will. The shouts of the men moments behind driving you forward. Muscles burning, the sound of hooves behind you. Snow and ash blurred together as you ran, the world reduced to breath, pain, and the thunder of hooves behind you. The crows shouted orders, their voices sharp as the wind cutting across your face. Every step sent fire through your legs, but stopping meant death. The streets of Mole’s Town flashed past in broken fragments of collapsed stalls, burning thatch, shadows fleeing in every direction. You couldn’t look back. Your vision flickered, part of you slipping into the edges of your vision, reaching for anything with four legs and fear in its heart. You let apart from yourself fade back, slowing down for just a moment. A stable door shuddered in your mind’s eye, then vanished. Another heartbeat, another flash, snow, mud, a grey speckled horse tied to a post, stamping nervously at the chaos. An image of breaking down the door, before it faded back to a sleet covered road you ran down. A horse came into your own true view, a grey speckled thing but good enough.
You lunged toward it, nearly collapsing as your shoulder screamed in protest. The horse reared, sensing danger, but you grabbed the rope and hauled yourself upward with a guttural snarl. Hooves struck the ground like drums as you kicked hard, sending the animal surging forward. Cold air tore at your face as the forest loomed ahead. Behind you, the crows’ shouts grew faint, swallowed by distance and the pounding rhythm of the chase.
You rode for hours it seemed, inner thighs chafed and burning. The others were surely dead, and you would be too if you didn’t wrap your wound soon before infection set in. While it was still pitch black, the birds began to chirp, dawn would come soon. Hopefully you were far away enough that should the crows come searching, you would be out of reach.
The horse stopped before you could command it. You got off and dragged it by the rope around its neck to a tree with a large enough canopy to cover you from the late summer snows. Soon the horse was secured now you had only the wound to deal with. The pain had dulled to a worrying numbness a few hours ago. As you peel back the furs it ripped of the new lays of scab developing, a sharp hiss escaped your lips. You rummaged through the sack you had inadvertently carried with you. The chain-mail.
You audibly sighed, idiot, you muttered to yourself. There were no needles, no food, nothing except for loose valuables and a few bits of armour. You pulled out your knife and cutoff a strip from the sack before tightly wrapping it around the shallow wound.
Delicate flakes of snow began to fall as you curled up beneath the large oak tree.
Snow fell against the oak’s broad canopy as exhaustion finally claimed you. The pain in your side faded into a distant throb, replaced by the slow warmth of drifting thought. Curled beneath the branches, you let your eyes fall shut, the world softening at the edges. The horse’s quiet breaths became the rhythm of your slipping consciousness.
Stone walls rose from the earth as high as the sky, great pillars held up the stone ceiling, the rust-coloured walls were caked in a layer of frost. The cavernous hall had high, narrow windows to let a cool light through into the dull crimson hall. Great big skulls, some the size of a cave opening, led up to an asymmetric monstrosity of spikes and jagged edges and twisted metal. Your eyes dragged along the steep iron steps towards a man.
Disgust contorted your face, why were these strange people invading your dreams? The man looked like the woman, Long straight hair, the colour of bone like some southern lady. Even from a distance, you could see his pale lilac eyes. Inbreed, the word lingered on your lips waiting to escape. You stood from the marble floor, the snow that covered it had stuck to your skin and furs. You felt it melt against the warmth your face produced. These dreams were feeling even more real.
He didn’t speak first, almost surprised by your presence, as if he was here long before you arrived.
“Why you do people keep invading my dreams?” The common tongue was clunky coming out of your mouth, too much jaw movement.
The tops of his cheeks twitched, preemptive to his anger.
The scene faded to black too quickly for him to answer.
You were awake before your eyes opened to a fat glob of snow crashing onto your face. A gloved hand roughly wiped it away. You had not a clue where you were, with not way to go back north. Certainly too injured to climb the wall, especially when the crows would be out looking for you and any of the other raiders that managed to escape. That is if any of them did.
The snow had thickened by the time you stirred, your breath a pale cloud in the dim morning light. The wound in your side pulsed with a dull heat, but it was the horse’s uneasy snort that dragged you fully awake. Something moved behind the oak, too light to be a crow, too clumsy to be a hunter.
A figure stepped out, thin as a starving fox, a knife trembling in his hand. His eyes darted between you, the horse, and the bulging sack at your feet.
“Leave the bag,” he said, voice cracking. “And the blade.”
You pushed yourself upright, slow enough not to tear the wound, fast enough to make him flinch. He wasn’t a fighter. A scavenger. One of the desperate ones who lived off the scraps raiders left behind.
“You don’t want this,” you rasped.
“I do,” he insisted, though his grip shook harder. “You’re hurt. I can take you.”
A foolish claim. But hunger made fools of many.
Pain tore through your side as you twisted away, snow spraying beneath your boots. His knife grazed your arm, too shallow to cut into your furs. Instinct took over old and merciless. You caught his wrist, wrenched it downward, and his blade fell into the snow with a dull thud.
He scrambled for it, but you were already on him straddling his back, your blade sliced open his throat, choking on his own breath, clutching at the air as if it might save him, You held him as he died. Soon you stood over him, chest heaving, the cold biting deeper now that the adrenaline ebbed. Pupils darted over the corpse, the crows would be sure to descend on you, better to change clothes, be less obvious. The thick furs were far better than the man's worn cotton, but you were less likely to be recognised.
The clothes were thin, but there were two layers of it, with the chain-mail tunic and gauntlets over your gloves it made a warm enough to traverse the light snows. His cloak was thick enough and with its dark colour it didn’t show much of the blood. Finally, with a fur draped over your shoulder, it seemed you were well-prepared enough for the journey.
But to where? You couldn’t go back to the wall, nor go back beyond the wall via the ear with no boat. To the south then, you knew the direction well enough, just the opposite of where you had come from. You would likely find a fisherman wanting to catch something large up north.
You were likely the first free woman to be this far south
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