The silence is what bothers him the most. The wailing of the corpses cut sharply through him, like a knife -- their pitched screams are something he carries with him, even after its over. He feels them in his chest, vibrating deep in his bones, the clattering of their fleshless skeletons -- he’s surprised he isn’t dead. The Old Gods, he thinks, were watching him, keeping him safe.
He feels heavy in his armour: arms heavy, legs barely able to carry him over the bodies and through the debris... They lost many good men and women -- fighters. He doesn’t know how he’s still alive; feet dragging, his sword nearly slipping from his grasp because he’s tired, covered in blood and dirt and wounds he’s unable to see. Every little sound makes him flinch, another wight? No. Wyllas has to tell himself, reassure himself, they were really dead. There was no coming back.
The fog in his mind is thick, maybe got whacked a few times too many ( that would explain the blood running down his cheek ), but he knows where he’s going. Nobody tries to stop him, or ask because there’s nobody really around. It’s a long walk, painful and dark. Everything in him aches. When Wyllas gets to the crypt’s door he has to step over bodies, almost trips himself and he has to force himself steady. The door doesn’t budge, not until he starts slamming his side into it; five harsh rams with his shoulder and it opens. Hobbling down the stairs, sword out, hand on the wall to balance to himself and he’s sure if he has to walk any further he’ll fall over. There’s a frightened presence in the crypt, the women, the children -- Sansa. She’s the only reason he’s there and they all stare at him, scared. He’s scared too, chest heaving, looking like a wild man and not a surviving soldier. Wyllas pauses, swallows what little moisture he has left in his mouth, frowning... looking. ❝ Where’s Sansa? ❞ It surprises him how much he doesn’t even sound like himself, voice hoarse and soft. Eyes shift from face to face and he stops. Goes blank and his heart likely ceases to beat. Words can’t describe what he feels, weapon falling from his hand and his legs go numb. He thanks the gods that she is alive.
@onceporcelain who will probably kill me later ilu ok | ♥
