(POV Elias)
The morning air bit at my cheeks as I tightened the last strap on my quiver. Alpha stood beside me, tail held still, eyes fixed on the woods beyond the yard. Shade paced behind him, circling twice before settling into a low crouch.
"Got your bow, your rope, and your snares?" Benjen's voice carried from the stable door.
I checked each in turn — longbow strung, quiver full, coil of rope on my left hip, three snares rolled tight on the right. "Aye."
Benjen stepped forward, leather jerkin creaking. "Then let's see how your pair handle more than market crowds."
We left Winterfell through the hunter's gate. Frost still clung to the ground though the sun was up, the kind that crunches underfoot and betrays every step. Alpha kept to my left, Shade to my right, both matching my pace.
The forest swallowed us quick — tall pines muffling the wind, air heavy with the scent of pitch and damp earth.
We found sign an hour in. Benjen crouched over the deep imprints of cloven hooves in the frost.
"Big stag. Winter coat's nearly shed. Tracks are fresh — less than an hour."
I glanced at Alpha. His ears pricked forward, nostrils flaring. Shade's tail twitched once before she began to move along the trail, head low.
We followed.
The tracks cut north, deeper into the Wolfswood. Twice Shade veered left or right, nose to the ground, before returning to the path — avoiding where the stag had doubled back to throw off pursuit.
When we caught sight of it, the animal was grazing in a clearing, antlers broad and still ragged from velvet. It was easily eight feet from nose to rump, weighing near three hundred pounds.
Benjen nocked an arrow but didn't draw. "Let's see your hounds earn their meat."
I motioned Alpha forward. He moved slow, belly low, muscles rolling under his thick coat. Shade darted out wide, circling left to come in behind.
When the stag lifted its head, Shade was already moving — fast, low, silent. Alpha came in from the front, forcing the stag to back toward her. She lunged for its flank, snapping at tendon. It bolted right into Alpha's charge, and he caught it high on the shoulder.
The stag staggered but didn't go down. I raised my bow, drew, and loosed. The arrow sank behind its foreleg. Alpha held, Shade darted in again, and together they dragged it off its feet.
I ended it with my knife.
We worked in silence for a while — Benjen keeping watch while I bled the carcass and cut out the organs worth saving. The hide would be cured later. The meat would feed both hounds and men.
And the soul… that I took for myself.
Kneeling, I pressed my palm to its chest and whispered to the Old Gods. The air cooled; frost rimed my fingertips. The stag's breath ceased, and the faint shimmer of its soul flowed into me. Strong, vital — worth far more than the hares and foxes I'd taken before.
This would be the last I needed before the crystal.
We hauled the carcass to the sled Benjen had hidden near the trail. The dogs pulled without complaint all the way back toward Winterfell's outer path. When the castle came into view, I slowed my steps.
"I'll take the long way back," I told Benjen. "Want to check the snares I set near the stream last week."
He gave me a look that said he knew I was up to something but didn't press. "Be back before dark."
I waited until he was out of sight before turning west, deeper into the forest. Alpha and Shade followed without sound. We reached the clearing just before midday — a ring of old oaks and pine, with a single weirwood at the far end, its red leaves stark against the grey sky.
The Children of the Forest were waiting. Three of them stood by the tree, cloaks of moss and leaf blending into the wood.
"You are ready," the eldest said, her voice carrying the sound of wind through branches.
I nodded and unwrapped the crystal. It was cold in my palm, a deep blue shot through with slow white veins, as if winter itself had been frozen inside.
The ritual was slow work. I set the crystal in the center of the clearing, then cut a shallow circle into the frozen earth around it. Into that ring, I placed tokens from my hunts — the soul of the stag foremost among them, but also smaller ones from wolf, fox, and hare.
The Children began to chant in their old tongue. I joined in where I could, my breath fogging in the chill air.
The ground shuddered underfoot. Frost spread outward from the crystal, curling over roots and grass. Snow began to fall, though the sky above was clear.
By the time the chanting stopped, the clearing had changed. The air was sharper, the ground firm with ice, the trees within the circle heavy with frost. It was no bigger than sixty feet across now, but I could feel the Old Gods' promise — it would grow, slowly, with care.
I stepped into the snow. It crunched under my boots, clean and untouched. Alpha lifted his head to catch the scent, then lay down in it as if it had always been his. Shade bounded once in a circle, then stopped, ears pricked.
The eldest Child placed a hand on my arm. "You will find that the frost will serve more than beasts. Men will come to value it, far away from here. Keep the balance, and it will not fade."
I looked at the ice forming along the crystal's base. In the heat of Oldtown's summers, a single block of this could sell for a silver stag or more. In the Free Cities, it could chill wine in a merchant prince's cup. Preserving meat on long voyages… the value was obvious.
The North would not starve if we could trade for what we needed without bowing to southern grain merchants.
We left the clearing in silence. By the time I reached the edge of the Wolfswood, the sun was low. Winterfell's walls caught the last of the light, the stones glowing orange.
Benjen was waiting at the gate. "Check all your snares?"
"Not all," I said, leading Alpha and Shade inside. "Some things are worth leaving for another day."