Rick had been traveling for a sennight now, slowly but surely making his way through the bitter cold of the wilderness. The snow fell thick and heavy, blinding him at times, and the winds howled like wolves seeking to tear him apart. He had learned to avoid the wildlings as much as he could, wary of their unpredictable nature, but even with his careful progress, he had been slowed by the harsh conditions.
After days of trudging through the freezing landscape, he had stumbled across a cave—a perfect shelter from the storm that seemed to have no end. But the cave had not been empty. It had been occupied by a bear. A very angry bear.
Rick had not been frightened. After all, he had encountered bears before. The She-bears of Bear Island, though, those were a different matter altogether. The ferocity of those beasts had left an indelible mark on his memory. But this bear? It was just another challenge to overcome.
Three well-placed bolts from his crossbow and a battle cry from Freyja—her eyes glowing with the fury of the Old Gods—had ended the beast's threat swiftly. The direwolf had torn into the bear's throat with such savage grace that it almost seemed as though the two were one creature, their movements synchronized in perfect harmony. When it was over, both Rick and Freyja had a new source of meat, fur, and warmth.
The bolts, fortunately, had survived the encounter without damage. That meant he wouldn't have to spend precious time crafting new ones. But the processing of the bear's carcass had taken longer than expected, and as a result, he had been stuck in the cave for more than a night. The weather had only worsened during that time, with the blizzard intensifying to the point where leaving the cave had become impossible.
With no other options, Rick had resigned himself to staying put. At least he was sheltered. He had plenty of food—thanks to Freyja's hunting—and the bear's fur was providing warmth in addition to his own layered clothes. The fire crackled in the corner, offering comfort against the bitter cold. And most importantly, Freyja was there with him. Or, so he thought.
For reasons he couldn't fathom, the direwolf had ventured out into the storm. Why? He hadn't known at first. But two hours ago, Freyja had returned, carrying an unconscious woman on her back. The girl was red-haired, just like the wildlings. It had taken Rick a moment to piece together what had happened. The woman must have gotten caught in the blizzard, unable to find shelter, and Freyja—being the fierce protector she was—had scented her from miles away and brought her back.
Rick was still trying to make sense of it when Freyja left again. This time, she returned with a man—another redhead—massive in size, unconscious, and seemingly on the brink of death. The sight made Rick pause. What was going on? Why had Freyja, of all creatures, chosen to rescue these strangers? He didn't have the answers, but he trusted the direwolf's instincts.
With the man now in the cave, Rick had done his best to drag him closer to the fire, trying to warm his large form. He had moved the woman, too, bringing her closer to the flames, hoping that their combined warmth might revive them both. To ensure the cold didn't steal the warmth from the cave, he'd taken the time to block the entrance with thick branches and foliage, hoping to keep the shelter as airtight as possible.
With nothing else to do but wait, Rick had put his iron pot over the fire and started on a hearty bear stew. The smell of the meat and vegetables filling the air was comforting, and as he stirred the pot from time to time, he focused his attention on a different task—fashioning a bow out of the bear's bones and sinew. The process required precision, and he found himself completely absorbed in it, the rhythm of his work lulling him into a sense of calm.
He didn't notice the subtle movements at first—the shift of the unconscious bodies, the slow rise of the woman's chest, the soft sound of breath. But then, with a sudden rush of awareness, he felt the cold, sharp pressure of steel at his throat.
His heart skipped a beat as the realization hit. His guests—who had seemed so helpless just moments before—were now wide awake, and the woman had a knife pressed against his skin. Her wild green eyes locked onto his, full of suspicion and mistrust. The man beside her stirred, but it was the woman who had the advantage.
"The fuck are you?" a sharp, female voice demanded, the edge of aggression clear in her tone.
"A crow, he's all black. Just slit his throat." The man's voice followed, cold and dismissive.
"Your funeral," Rick replied with a wry grin, just as a deep, guttural growl echoed through the cave. The sound vibrated through the stone walls, and the temperature seemed to drop a few degrees in an instant.
Rick knew they had heard it. He could feel the shift in their stance, the way the woman stiffened for a fraction of a second, the way the man slowly began to pivot in his peripheral vision. He couldn't move, trapped by the blade still pressed against his throat, but his mind raced. The man had turned, taking slow, deliberate steps away, and now he could see him clearly in his line of sight.
"What the fuck? Why is there a direwolf here?" the woman asked, her voice laced with disbelief, as she released her grip on Rick and took a few quick, wary steps back, retreating toward her companion.
"She's mine," Rick replied coolly, raising an arm to gently stroke his companion's side. Freyja, her fur bristling, stood tall at his side, her deep blue eyes glowing with a menacing light. Her growl was a low, rumbling threat that resonated deep in the cave's walls, a warning that she would not tolerate any further attempts to harm her pack. "She doesn't take kindly to people threatening me. Especially cunts whose lives she saved."
The woman's eyes flickered toward Freyja, and for a moment, something unspoken passed between them—fear, respect, or perhaps a mixture of both. The man, still wary but more focused on his surroundings than Rick, seemed to be reassessing the situation. Freyja's presence made them think twice, but Rick wasn't finished with them yet.
Rick tilted his head slightly, letting the tension settle before he spoke again, his tone casual, almost friendly. "Sooooo... Guess rights? It's bear stew." He gestured to the pot simmering gently over the fire, the rich smell of meat and vegetables filling the air, a stark contrast to the tension that hung in the cave. "I'm guessing you've traveled far and haven't had a proper meal in a while. It's good... mostly."
The wildlings exchanged another long look, a silent conversation taking place behind their eyes before they both nodded, cautiously settling onto the other side of the fire. The woman sat first, her movements deliberate and calm, as if she were carefully measuring her surroundings, while the man followed, though with a bit more swagger in his step, his stance still wary. Rick passed the ladle to them, the wooden handle worn smooth from use. They each took their turn ladling the stew into their bowls, the aroma of bear meat and vegetables thick in the air, the warmth of the fire casting flickering shadows on their faces.
"Thank you," the woman said after a pause, her voice quiet, perhaps a little humbled, but tinged with a wariness that didn't quite fade.
The man, however, couldn't help but offer a rough laugh. "Didn't know crows had any decency in them," he said, his tone carrying the sharpness of a challenge, though he seemed to soften somewhat as he tasted the stew.
Rick shrugged lightly, not bothered by the man's words. "I'm not a crow, despite my clothes."
"Looks like a crow to me," the man retorted, eyeing Rick's black attire with a smirk, as if the resemblance was obvious.
"I just like black," Rick replied, his voice casual. "Not my fault if the fuckers at the Wall love it too."
The woman raised an eyebrow, looking him over more closely now, sizing him up with a hint of suspicion. "You're not freefolk either," she remarked, the statement more of an observation than a question.
"Freefolk?" Rick asked, the word unfamiliar.
"Men and women born on this side of the Wall," the woman explained, her voice steady. "We don't follow the laws of your kind."
"Freefolk…" Rick repeated, letting the word roll off his tongue. "I like it. Better than Wildling. Less... savage."
The man's laugh was loud and boisterous, the kind that came easily to him despite his situation. "Ha! It is."
Rick's lips twitched into a smirk at the man's amusement, but the woman was still curious. Her gaze never quite left him, studying him carefully. "If you're not a crow, which I still don't believe, and you're not one of us. What are you?"
Rick hesitated for only a moment, his expression thoughtful. Then he replied with a wry, almost bitter smile, "Well, a kneeler, obviously."
The woman's brow furrowed, confusion crossing her face. "A kneeler?"
"Those that live south of the Wall, and who kneel to their kings and lords," Rick explained, his tone dry as he watched her process his words.
The woman let out a short laugh, as if she found the idea amusing but a little foreign. "Hmm… I never knelt to anyone, but I do come from south of the Wall."
Rick's gaze softened slightly as he heard the underlying truth in her words. "Ha! Wanted freedom, lad?"
"Yes and no." Rick answered, his voice taking on a more reflective tone. He could see the quizzical look on their faces, both of them leaning forward a little, eager to understand. "In a few years, I would probably be shackled by duty in the south. I wanted to enjoy my freedom while it lasted. I wanted to explore the world before that, and dreams led me here."
The woman's eyes narrowed with curiosity. "Dreams?"
Rick's lips curled into a small grin at her disbelief. "Green ones."
"Fuck me, you're a seer?!" the woman exclaimed, her voice a mix of incredulity and something else—perhaps awe, though it was hard to tell.
"There's no way that's true!" she continued, shaking her head. "Only those with the blood of the First Men are seers, and it's very rare."
Rick met her gaze with an amused look. "I have the right blood. My direwolf is proof of that, no?" He gestured to Freyja, who was now contentedly laying at his side, her massive form sprawled out on the ground, head resting in Rick's lap. A soft growl of contentment vibrated in her chest as he scratched behind her ears. "I'm Rick, by the way, and this beautiful Lady here is Freyja, she's the one that brought you back here braving the blizzard. Well met."
Freyja's eyes glinted up at the woman and the man, but her focus remained primarily on Rick, her loyalty unquestionable as she soaked up his attention. The tension in the cave had eased somewhat, but there was still wariness in the air, both from the wildlings and from Rick himself. The fire crackled softly, and for a moment, the world outside the cave seemed distant and irrelevant, leaving only the three of them and the ever-watchful direwolf in the dim light.
"Ygritte," the woman said, her voice sharp but with a trace of curiosity.
"Tormund Giantsbane, the bear-fucker."
"... Are you talking about an actual bear or the she-bear on Bear Island down the bay of Ice? Because one is gross, the other… Eh, good job," Rick said with a smirk, clearly amused by the connection.
"You know of…?!" Tormund exclaimed, his eyes widening in disbelief before quickly cutting himself off, a look of realization dawning on his face.
"Aye, I lived with them for a few years before coming here. She has five daughters, all just as fierce as their mother."
"Five," Tormund whispered, his face breaking into a grin, his voice full of admiration and perhaps a little nostalgia.
"Spread your seed south of the Wall, Tormund?" Ygritte teased with a mischievous glint in her eyes.
"Aye, I did. Mighty woman that she-bear was. Hit like an actual bear," Tormund chuckled, clearly proud of the battle-hardened woman.
"Still does. Except now with her new morningstar she hits harder," Rick added casually, not missing a beat.
"Morningstar?" Tormund echoed, confused, his brow furrowing.
"It's… wait a second, I have a drawing." Rick pulled his journal from his coat pocket, flipping through the pages with practiced ease before showing them the weapon in question.
"Fuck me!" Tormund cursed under his breath, eyes wide with shock.
"That looks nasty," confessed Ygritte, staring at the drawing, her usual composure slipping for a moment.
"It is," Rick replied dryly, eyes glinting.
"Eh! Maybe I should go and visit again. It looks to me like a real challenge," Tormund mused, his lips curling into a grin at the thought.
"You're going to get killed before even putting a foot on land. They have a new weapon, from what I understood. All wild… freefolk raids for the last two years failed, with the men killed while still rowing on their boats thanks to it," Rick warned, his tone turning serious.
"That explains why no one ever came back this past two years," Tormund muttered, a grim realization settling over him.
"You said you had dreams that led you here?" Ygritte asked, her voice shifting, turning more probing, bringing the conversation back to the matter at hand.
"Two. One is about cold winds and dead corpses rising with eerie blue eyes. The other is about a gigantic heart tree inside a cave tended by children of the forest." Rick's eyes darkened as he spoke, a faraway look on his face, as though the weight of the dreams still clung to him.
"The Others…" Ygritte whispered, her breath catching as she processed his words. "You're truly a seer."
"So it is true. The white walkers and their dead slaves are back." Rick's voice was heavy with the truth he had uncovered, a shiver running down his spine at the thought.
"Yes. We were ambushed by a group of them as we made our way to…" Tormund began to speak, but upon realizing the sensitive nature of the information, he stopped himself, his lips pressing into a thin line. His focus shifted back to the present, and he gestured toward Ygritte, who nodded in agreement.
"We managed to escape, but the fucking weather changed and…" Ygritte finished for him, her voice hard with the weight of their escape.
"Here we are," Tormund added, his tone a mix of frustration and resignation.
"The Others… You're uniting to fight them? Is that why?" Rick's voice held an edge of understanding, curiosity rising in his chest.
"How do you know?" Tormund asked, his eyes narrowing in suspicion, a flash of caution crossing his features.
"When I passed through the Wall, it was at Castle Black. I heard black brothers talking about rumors of a new king-beyond-the-wall," Rick answered, his eyes steady.
"… Aye, it's true," Tormund admitted with a solemn expression, his voice serious.
"Tormund!" Ygritte's voice was filled with a mix of disbelief and concern as she glanced at him sharply.
"That's alright," Rick said, waving her off. "I'm not with them, neither am I with the freefolk for that matter. With the Others roaming around, my side is the side of the living."
"… Good enough for me," Tormund said with a slight nod, his voice calm but resolute.
"You're surprisingly trusting, Tormund," Rick observed, raising an eyebrow, his tone light yet tinged with something deeper.
"You could have killed us in our sleep, or simply set your direwolf on us. You didn't, and offered us guest rights. Good enough for me. For now," Tormund said, his gaze steady, a mix of gratitude and wariness in his words.
After that, Rick handed Ygritte his wooden bowl, watching her carefully scoop up a portion of the stew with practiced ease. She took a few bites, savoring the warmth of the food in the cold, her eyes glancing around the cave every so often, as though she were ready for anything. Meanwhile, Tormund, ever the wild man, ate directly from the ladle, his rough hands gripping it with the kind of familiarity that came with a lifetime of harsh winters and long raids. Rick returned to the task of carving his bow, his focused movements steady and precise. Freyja, his ever-present companion, lay by his side, her massive form stretched out on the cold stone, content to rest as the storm outside howled through the night.
The blizzard raged relentlessly, the wind biting at the cave's entrance as snow piled up around them. But by morning, the storm had passed, leaving behind an eerie stillness and a sky as clear as crystal. The sun, still low on the horizon, cast a faint glow over the landscape, turning the snow-covered world into a vast sea of white.
As Rick packed his things, organizing his supplies and checking his equipment, he glanced over to the pile of bear meat he had left behind. He decided to give Tormund and Ygritte the surplus, since he couldn't carry it all, and he had no use for the bear's thick fur. "Here, take what you need," he said, gesturing toward the meat and pelts. Tormund, who had been muttering quietly to Ygritte in low tones, gave Rick a nod of thanks, though it was clear he wasn't the type to express much gratitude with words.
As Rick finished packing his gear, Ygritte and Tormund continued to converse in whispers, their voices carrying a certain urgency, though they were careful not to disturb Rick's concentration. The tension in the air was palpable, as though they were all aware that the time to leave was fast approaching.
When the last of Rick's things were packed and ready, Tormund's deep voice broke the silence. "Wait."
Rick paused mid-motion, glancing up at the man. "What is it?"
"We'd like to come with you," Ygritte announced, her voice firm but laced with something Rick couldn't quite place — hope, maybe, or desperation.
"Why?" Rick asked, raising an eyebrow, clearly surprised by the request. He'd figured they'd part ways after the storm had passed.
"You're a seer," Ygritte continued, her eyes serious as they locked onto Rick's. "You saw the Others, but you also saw the Children of the Forest. Maybe… maybe they can help us."
Rick's gaze shifted between the two of them, his mind turning over the implications of their words. The Children of the Forest were a dangerous mystery, a myth to most, but to Rick, they were very real. He'd seen them in his dreams — the ancient beings who had created the First Men, the ones who knew the true history of the world. But could they help these two? Could they help him? After a long pause, Rick exhaled slowly, his breath clouding in the chill air. He needed guidance, and they knew this land better than he did.
"In my dreams…" he began, his voice quiet, almost as if speaking to himself, "there is a crow talking to me. East of the Fist, north of Craster's Keep." He saw the immediate recognition in their eyes, the slight shift in posture that told him they understood.
"That would be just south of the Antler River," Ygritte said, her voice dropping into a hushed tone, as if she were weighing the distance and the dangers ahead.
"A week of travel if the weather is good. Perhaps more if we want to avoid some clans," Tormund added, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. He was clearly calculating the risks — the terrain, the potential encounters with other groups.
"Freyja will probably warn us if anyone is near," Rick said, glancing down at his direwolf, who, despite being curled up in her resting spot, lifted her head at the mention of her name, her ears flicking back toward Rick.
A sharp bark of acknowledgment echoed from Freyja, who stirred from her resting place beside Rick. He tossed one of his daggers, still sheathed, toward Ygritte with a swift motion. She caught it effortlessly, though the weight of the blade seemed strange to her. Until now, she had only wielded a crude stone knife, worn smooth by years of use. The dagger, with its gleaming steel, felt worlds apart from anything she was accustomed to.
Tormund, on the other hand, still clutched his battle-worn ax, despite being unconscious just a short time ago. It was as if the weapon was an extension of his body. Even in the depths of sleep, he had not let go. Rick had spent a good while prying the ax from his unconscious grip, his fingers aching from the effort. But the stubborn man had finally been separated from it, and now the ax lay at his side, the sharp steel waiting for battle.
Ygritte hesitated for a moment, eyeing the dagger in her hand. Finally, she pulled it from its sheath, and the blade caught the light, gleaming brilliantly. The runes carved into its surface were intricate, ancient, and unfamiliar. Her eyes widened with amazement.
"It's steel!" she exclaimed, her voice full of wonder.
Rick gave a nonchalant shrug, his face impassive. "Eh… Yes? What about it?"
Tormund, who had been silently observing, grunted in surprise. "Steel is rare on this side of the Wall. The one we get is the one we get from the crows."
Ygritte's eyes flickered to Tormund before she returned her gaze to the dagger. "I see. Keep it then," she said, turning the blade in her hand, her fingers tracing the smooth edge.
She then studied the runes, curious. "Are all daggers that pretty south of the Wall? Do all of them have runes?" Her voice carried a note of awe.
Rick's lips curved slightly, though his tone remained calm. "No. It's pretty and has runes because I made it that way. To honor my First Men heritage."
Ygritte's brow furrowed in surprise. "You made this?!" she exclaimed, a touch of disbelief in her voice. She had never met anyone who crafted weapons so finely, let alone someone who could claim ownership of a blade like this.
"Aye," Rick replied, a hint of pride creeping into his words. "Every ounce of steel on me, I made. My pride and joy is the morningstar I showed you yesterday. Best thing I've ever made."
Ygritte's gaze shifted to the bow Rick had slung across his back, her eyes narrowing with interest. "I won't lose the dagger, but... I'd prefer your bow. I'm a better shot than Tormund."
Tormund grinned, shaking his head. "Aye, 'tis true. She can shoot through the eye of a rabbit two hundred yards away." He gave Ygritte a proud, almost mischievous look.
Rick, smiling slightly, nodded in agreement. "Then take it." He handed the bow over to her, the wood feeling smooth in her hands. "We'll make arrows when we stop for the night."
Ygritte took the bow eagerly, securing it to her back with a quick movement. "Thank you," she said, the words simple but heartfelt. The bow was a perfect fit, and she could already feel the familiar pull of the string beneath her fingers. It was as if the weapon had always been hers.
Rick gave a final glance at their packed belongings and turned toward the cave entrance. Freyja stood waiting, her massive form blocking out much of the light, the cold air of the world outside creeping in. The journey ahead would be long and dangerous, but Rick knew this was a step toward whatever lay beyond.
"Let's get moving," he said, his voice steady. "There's no time to waste."
Tormund and Ygritte nodded in agreement, the weight of their decision settling in. Together, they would face the dangers of the wilderness, united in their purpose. They stepped into the harsh light of the world outside, ready for whatever came next.
___________________________________________________________________
They had been trudging through the Haunted Forest for five days when the attack came—sudden and savage. Freyja, who had been leading the way, stopped abruptly. Her massive form tensed, her ears twitching, and a low growl rumbled from deep in her chest. It was a sound of warning, one that sent chills down their spines. The hairs on the back of Rick's neck stood at attention. Without hesitation, Ygritte pulled an arrow from her quiver and nocked it, her eyes scanning the trees with the sharp focus of a predator. Tormund, never one to back down, shifted his weight and gripped his ax with both hands, ready to strike. Rick, with practiced precision, unlatched the bags from Freyja's back, slashing the rope with one of his throwing knives before drawing his sword in a fluid motion.
The air was thick with tension as they surveyed the surrounding trees, every twig snap or rustling leaf heightened in their senses. The first sign of the attack came as the sharp sound of air splitting reached Rick's ears. Reflexes honed over years of combat took over as he raised his sword, the blade catching an incoming arrow aimed directly at his chest. The impact reverberated through the steel, but the arrow's momentum was halted just short of piercing his skin.
Before he could process the near miss, Ygritte reacted without hesitation, releasing her own volley of arrows. The distinctive scream of pain that followed was the only confirmation they needed that one of their attackers had fallen. But that scream was the call to arms for a dozen or more cannibals, emerging from the forest's shadow with blood-curdling war cries. They surged toward them like a wave of insanity, axes raised, knives gleaming, and faces twisted in a feral frenzy.
"CANNIBALS!" Tormund bellowed, his voice thunderous as he charged forward, cutting a swath through the incoming attackers with the power of his ax. His enemies were like wild animals, but Tormund was a force of nature unto himself, unstoppable once he was set into motion.
Ygritte's bow sang with deadly accuracy, each arrow finding its mark—through the heart, the throat, or the eye. She didn't stop to take stock of her kills; she simply fired again and again, slowing down the tide of savagery. Her fingers danced on the string, moving faster than anyone could follow, her focus unyielding. Freyja, her massive form a blur of fury, sprang into action. With a snarl, she leaped onto one of the cannibals, knocking him to the frozen ground beneath her paws. Her fangs tore into his throat, ripping it out with a vicious crunch before she set her sights on another target, hunting them down with the brutal precision of a born predator.
Rick moved like a whirlwind. He hurled one of his throwing knives with such force that it buried itself deep into the throat of a man lunging at him with a wild, crazed grin. The impact of the blade drove the man back several paces, his hands clutching the wound as he collapsed, gurgling in his last breath. Rick didn't stop to savor his victory—he was already in motion, his sword sweeping upward to parry a vicious downward strike from an axman. The force of the blow rang through his arm, but Rick's feet were firmly planted, his body shifting with the strike to stay balanced.
In an instant, Rick spun, his blade cutting low, aiming for the hamstring of his attacker. The axman let out a howl of agony as his leg buckled beneath him, and he crashed to the ground, face-first. Before the man could even think of raising his weapon again, Rick's sword was already in motion. With a swift arc, the axman's head was severed from his shoulders, his body crumpling lifelessly to the forest floor.
But the fight was far from over. A spear thrust came at Rick's side, aimed with deadly intent. His instincts flared, and with a sidestep, Rick dodged the strike just in time. He swung his sword upward, slicing through the spear's shaft, splitting it cleanly in half. As the two halves of the weapon fell to the ground, Rick grabbed the sharpened stone tip, using it like a dagger. With a brutal shove, he thrust it into the spearman's eye socket, the force of the strike driving it deep and killing the man instantly.
Rick let go of the shattered spear, spinning around just in time to see another attacker, an axman, struggling to rise from the ground. The wildling's grip tightened on his weapon, but Rick was already there, moving with the speed and grace of someone who had fought countless battles. With a final, decisive swing, Rick severed the man's head, ending him with a clean strike.
As the blood of his enemies stained the snow, Rick's eyes scanned the battlefield. Tormund had dispatched his two opponents with brutal efficiency, and now he was charging into the fray again, cutting down anything in his path. But as Rick looked toward Ygritte, he saw the danger—a cannibal creeping up on her from the side, his axe raised to strike. Without thinking, Rick hurled another throwing knife. It buried itself deep in the cannibal's eye, and he collapsed, dead before he hit the ground.
Ygritte didn't miss a beat. She shot an arrow with deadly accuracy, taking down the cannibal threatening Tormund from behind. Rick didn't pause to acknowledge her, though—he was already moving, his sword in hand, to meet the next foe. Another wildling rushed him, their weapons clashing in a contest of strength. The man was bigger and seemingly stronger, but that proved to be his fatal mistake. Rick didn't rely on strength alone—he was faster, more cunning. With a flick of his wrist, Rick drew the dagger from his belt, slipping it under the man's guard and plunging it into his chest. The wildling gasped, his eyes wide in shock. But Rick wasn't done. He twisted the blade and yanked it out, stabbing upward beneath the man's chin, making sure the job was finished.
The wildling crumpled to the snow, dead. Rick wiped the blood from his dagger and surveyed the battlefield. The cannibals that remained were either dead or retreating into the shadows of the forest, their numbers dwindling in the face of such overwhelming resistance.
Ygritte was back-to-back with him now, her bow ready for another shot. The two of them stood, poised for the next attack, knowing that this battle was far from over. But they were ready—together. Their enemies had underestimated them, and that would be their final mistake.
"Tormund?!" Ygritte shouted, her voice filled with urgency.
"I'm good! Killed all the fuckers! You?" Tormund called back, his voice filled with satisfaction as he wiped his axe clean.
"We're good too," Ygritte replied, keeping her bow ready as she scanned the area for any signs of further threats.
Rick turned to Freyja, his voice tight with concern. "Freyja, are there any more?"
Two sharp barks from a few feet away answered him, signaling that the danger had passed. Rick lowered his sword, relaxing his stance slightly and sheathing his weapon.
"What the fuck…" Ygritte muttered, the tension in her muscles slowly unwinding. She stood still for a moment, taking in the chaotic scene around them.
"What is it?" Rick asked, his curiosity piqued.
"Cannibals," Ygritte said, still in disbelief. "They live farther west. Way farther than I thought they'd travel. I never imagined they'd come this far."
Tormund joined them, his face grim as he surveyed the area. "Did they flee here?" Rick asked, his gaze flicking between the two of them.
"Maybe," Tormund replied, his voice low with uncertainty.
Rick nodded in agreement. "We should not stay here for long. Let's gather up the arrows and my knives, then we'll move out."
"Aye," Tormund agreed, walking off to recover the arrows as Rick spoke to Ygritte.
Ygritte turned to Rick, her voice soft but sincere. "Thank you."
Rick glanced at her, confused for a moment. "What for?"
Ygritte met his gaze, her expression steady. "You saved my life," she said, her tone filled with gratitude.
Rick shrugged slightly, as if the danger was simply part of the journey. "That's what friends do."
Ygritte raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile pulling at her lips. "Oh, we're friends now?" she asked, her voice laced with amusement.
Rick chuckled, a small grin tugging at his mouth. "Sure. Why not? We've been traveling together, hunting together, sharing meals. Isn't that how friendships start?"
"Maybe," Ygritte replied, her smile lingering.
The conversation faded as Rick went to work, methodically picking up his knives from the ground. He cleaned them with careful precision, wiping away the thick blood and brain matter from the steel by running them across the fur of the fallen cannibals. The sickly scent of death clung to the blades, but Rick didn't flinch as he continued. He tied the rope holding their bags together again with quick, practiced movements, then hoisted them back onto Freyja's back.
Just as he finished securing the last bag, his companions were done with their tasks as well. Without a word, they all turned and began walking away, their pace slightly quicker than usual, the urgency of the recent battle still lingering in the air.
The forest felt quieter now, the sounds of their steps almost too loud against the eerie stillness. Tormund broke the silence first, his voice low, with a trace of admiration.
"How did you do that?" he asked, glancing over at Rick, his gaze still full of curiosity.
"Do what?" Rick replied, his voice casual, though his mind was already drifting to the battle's aftermath.
"That move, blocking the arrow," Tormund clarified, looking at Rick intently.
Rick shrugged, a slight grin forming at the corner of his lips. "Oh! I don't know, my body just moved," he said, the words almost absentmindedly slipping from his tongue.
"It just moved?" Ygritte chimed in, raising an eyebrow and eyeing him skeptically. "You're telling me that you don't even remember how you did it?"
Rick gave her a sheepish look, shrugging again. "The she-bear always told me I had the instincts and reflexes of a wolf. My body just moves before I even think about it, like it already knows what to do."
Tormund let out a hearty laugh, a rough sound that echoed through the trees. "Ha! A born warrior, eh? That explains things," he said, clapping Rick on the back.
Their conversation meandered naturally from one topic to the next, drifting from battle to tales of the past and finally settling on a more lighthearted exchange of stories and jokes. The sun began its slow descent behind the trees, casting long shadows on the forest floor. As they made camp, the fire crackled to life, its warm glow flickering in the growing dusk. They sat around it, the warmth of their shared company easing the tension of the battle, and the night slowly crept in.
But even as they spoke, each one of them knew that the dangers of the Haunted Forest weren't truly behind them. Still, for the first time in days, there was a sense of camaraderie, of something more than just survival. The uneasy silence of the woods was now replaced by the quiet hum of their voices, and for that moment, that fleeting moment, they felt as though they were more than just travelers in the wilderness—they were a team.