The sky was a hazy grey, and the scent of pine and moss, mixed with a chill, drifted on the wind. Pale mist rose from the black earth, interwoven with wind and snow. An Ice Spider easily traversed the broken stones and fallen wood; it was the spirit of this place.
The Ice Spider, in the popular imagination, was an evil magical creature, often said in legends to collude with the White Walkers (or Others), equally cruel and equally terrifying...
However, this one was slightly different. Eight eyes, and eight slender, sharp long legs supported its slightly bloated body. Its size, about that of a small dog, allowed it to hunt small to medium-sized prey. It had clearly not fully grown yet, but it was still an excellent hunter in the jungle caves.
A flicker of human-like intelligence showed in the Ice Spider's eyes as it gazed at the snowy weather, looking somewhat bored and lazy. Yes, similar scenes had happened many times, but this was the first time it had become an Ice Spider. Although it had many more legs than a human, it could instinctively use them as easily as if they were its arms.
Waking up in the cave, it followed the spider silk, climbing through the winding, twisting rock passages, stepping out of the cave to admire the sight that was so different from the darkness.
Its sky-blue, almost frozen body gave it an air of purity, yet those who knew of its dreaded reputation would never appreciate its beauty.
Climbing vertically up a tree branch, this novel feeling was a joy a human could never experience. It chose a spot frequently visited by prey to spin a web, and then waited for the prey to fall into the trap. This was a time to bask in the warm sun. The Ice Spider didn't particularly like sunbathing, but it wasn't particularly afraid of it either.
Such a leisurely day certainly suited his lazy self, but he would always wake up in the end...
Yes, these intensely real sensations might be mistaken for reality, but they were not enough to extinguish the light of his humanity. It was not difficult for him to distinguish between dream and reality. As for getting lost in the dream? Don't be ridiculous, 'I'm not a pervert. Isn't being human better?'
Throfinn had no idea how many times he had experienced such strange dreams. Sometimes he would turn into a raven, naughtily pecking at a sheep's tail in play. Sometimes he would become a Shadowcat hunting after a snowstorm. Dreaming of turning into livestock or beasts always made him feel free...
"A-haaa! A-haaa-ha-haaa!
I am the last of the Giants, I have no companions.
The last of the Giant, come from the mountain, we once ruled the world.
Ah, the little men stole the forests, stole the mountains, stole the rivers.
They built great walls in the valleys, and took all the fish from the streams..."
A robust singing voice rang out, and Throfinn woke up from his dream. His father was back, and he was clearly in a good mood. This was his father's favorite song to hum: The Last of the Giants.
His father was a tall Free Folk (or Wildling) man. He had a strong body, and everyone who saw him would praise his might. This rugged man, as burly as a snow bear, was just like the song he sang, like a small giant. His height of nearly two meters allowed him to look down on most people.
Throfinn was a cute little boy from the Free Folk. His black hair came from his mother, and his sky-blue eyes were inherited from his father. This was completely opposite to his younger brother, who had red hair and black eyes. Although Throfinn was young, he was very handsome—so much so that people outside would believe he was a girl, which was why Throfinn was reluctant to go out. Those gossip-mongering, unscrupulous uncles were extremely annoying.
Throfinn enjoyed the thrill of running at lightning speed when he became a wolf in his dreams, and he yearned for the freedom of soaring in the sky when he turned into a bird. This led to Throfinn being sleepy even at the age of ten, and because of this, his nine-year-old brother, Orrik, always liked to tease him.
This, of course, didn't bother him. After all, a soul far beyond his ten years resided in his body, and he wouldn't hold a grudge against this child. However, not caring about little Orrik's teasing didn't mean he could ignore his father's blame.
Throfinn's father admired Giants. He hoped to be as strong as a Giant, and he had said more than once that he hoped his children would grow up to be brave and fearless Free Folk men like him.
Hearing the song getting closer, Throfinn quickly got up, rubbed his sleepy eyes, and tried hard to look more alert. He knew his father disliked his "love of sleep."
At that moment, the sound of clothes being patted came from outside the tent.
A deep and magnetic voice rang out: "Darie? Where are you? Come and see what I've hunted! It's a big one this time, ha-ha-ha!"
Throfinn lifted the tent flap and saw a Free Folk man as burly as a bear. He had red hair and sky-blue eyes. His features weren't individually striking, but combined they made him look somewhat handsome. He was excitedly processing the prey in his hands. Throfinn went closer and saw it was a Shadowcat, the size of a pony.
Raynard skillfully used a knife to bleed it and then separated its hide. A Shadowcat's pelt was more valuable than its meat. The fur was primarily white with black mottled stripes, and its sharp teeth and claws displayed its identity as a predator.
"Father," Throfinn exclaimed in surprise, "It's a Shadowcat!"
The man turned his head, smiled at Throfinn, and said, "Throfinn, this is a Shadowcat, ha-ha-ha! You must be careful if you meet one outside. This big fellow was injured today, otherwise, I really couldn't have taken it down alone."
Just then, a woman with black hair and black eyes returned, dragging a little boy by the ear. From afar, they could hear the little boy begging for mercy.
Orrik, in pain, couldn't help but plead, "Mom, I won't do it again, please let me go!"
But the woman was unrelenting. "That won't do. Pain is what teaches you a lesson."
The newcomers were Throfinn's mother and his younger brother, Orrik, who was a year younger. The little brother had red hair. Like his father, in the Free Folk's view, red hair meant being a "Kissed by Fire," a blessed fortunate one. However, the fortunate one was clearly out of luck right now. Throfinn knew his naughty brother had recently become interested in an ice cave not far away, and he had probably been caught by their mother for going there to play.
His mother was a remarkable woman! Her skill could be seen just by how strictly she kept watch over his father.
Out of the Free Folk's independent spirit, women could take up arms and fight alongside men. Such women were called "Spearwives," and they were as brave and good in battle as their male counterparts. Throfinn's mother was an excellent Spearwife.
According to his mother, she was originally a noble lady from the North, and during her rebellious phase, she was captured by a group of raiders who crossed the Wall and was forced to come to the lands Beyond the Wall.
Throfinn knew his younger brother wouldn't get off easily this time. After all, their mother had warned him several times, and the ice caves were genuinely dangerous. Falling into an ice cavern could be fatal.
Sure enough, his mother was still angry. "Raynard, control your son! This little rascal dared to play in the ice cave."
Raynard, however, didn't seem too concerned. He defended Orrik, saying, "Darie, Orrik is a 'Kissed by Fire' just like me! His luck shouldn't be too bad. Besides, I used to crawl into those ice caves often when I was a child, and I was never hurt."
Orrik also muttered somewhat defiantly, "Exactly!"
Darie became even more furious at Raynard's words and gave the mischievous little guy a rap on the head. "It's because of your indulgence that this brat is so naughty. Old Gods! If only Orrik were a third as obedient as Throfinn, I wouldn't worry so much."
Seeing Raynard skinning the Shadowcat, Darie's attention was also drawn away.
"Where did this Shadowcat come from?" Darie asked, stepping forward to examine it.
Raynard was clearly less meticulous than Darie. For the rough-hewn Raynard, thinking was far less enjoyable than swinging a fist.
Raynard said, "I found this Shadowcat while I was hunting. This big fellow was badly injured by something. It was still breathing when I found it, and I ended its life."
Darie examined the Shadowcat's wound. It looked like a scrape, or perhaps a cut from something extremely sharp. Such a wound was uncommon.
Many of the Free Folk still used stone, wood, and bronze weapons, such as stone axes and stone clubs, fire-hardened javelins and spears, and wooden and bone longbows. Their bows didn't have the range of the Southern yew longbows, but they could still shoot arrows as high as seven hundred feet.
However, the wound clearly looked like it was caused by a spear. But what kind of spear could inflict such an injury? The Free Folk never mined or smelted metal, and there were hardly any blacksmiths or ironworking shops beyond the Wall. Every iron sword here was precious, let alone an iron spear.
Although Darie couldn't figure out who had wounded this big creature so badly, she understood the preciousness of every bit of food. In a world forged by ice and snow, they had to cherish every scrap of food that could add to their table.
Darie also began to help butcher the Shadowcat meat. With her joining in, the Shadowcat was quickly divided into chunks of meat, bones with flesh, and internal organs. Throfinn and Orrik helped out, doing what they could. This Shadowcat successfully contributed to a moment of family bonding for Throfinn's family.
Only Throfinn stared thoughtfully at the Shadowcat's wound. No one noticed Throfinn's strange expression while Darie was puzzled by the wound. The Shadowcat itself was a top predator. The only things that could threaten them in this North, besides heavily armed humans, were the Others (White Walkers).