The wolf-dreams didn't come as often as they once did, though the tree still visited her sleep from time to time. It spoke to her, calling her by her first name, her true name. Sometimes it was her father's voice, but mostly it was Bran who called for her the loudest. It hurt her ears, the desperation in his voice ripping her apart.

One night, she had woken up with her hands over her ears and tears running down her face, Jaqen H'ghar sitting on the edge of her bed.

"A girl calls out in her sleep for a boy named Bran," he had murmured in the voice she'd grown to love. "Who are you?"

"No one."

"Liar," he'd said with a sad, small smile before fading into the darkness of her chambers.

She wanted the dreams to stop. She wanted her past to burn away, leaving her a blank slate. She wanted only to serve the Many-Faced God for death was the only thing she knew. But the dreams... The voice was growing more insistent, more desperate. She could feel the power of it building up inside of her, but she denied it by pushing it away.

Every day the same question would be asked. (Who are you?) Every day the same answer would be given. (No one.) And everyday the sad, small smile would grace Jaqen H'ghar's lips and his eyes would catch her's as he shook his head. (Liar.)

Then the night came when the power that built up inside her could not be denied. It burst through the wall she built around it. screaming her name, calling for her so loud she thought she might break. But instead of breaking... she sank her teeth into the throat of a man. The warm blood sprayed everywhere as she shook her head, tearing the soft flesh off and swallowing it in one bite. The taste of blood made her hungry for more, but the man was dead and she wanted to feel the life go out of her prey as she ate. She didn't even give the corpse meat a second thought as she lunged at another man who had dropped his sword as he cried out for his mother.

All around her, her brothers and sisters gorged on the other men that had dared to hunt them. For three nights, she and her pack had roamed these woods, circling around the place she once called home. Any man who ventured too close was hunted down and killed, just as any man who tried to leave. Her pack had never eaten so well. There were close to three hundred now. All of her brothers and sisters in the north had sought her out to follow wherever she went.

Though she knew where she was, she didn't know why she brought them here or why she stopped anyone from entering or leaving. There was a scent in the air that beckoned to her. A phantom of a memory. Her sister, her true-sister from her original pack, called for her. It was a ghostly pull from the one they lost and she couldn't ignore it. But she didn't know what her lost sister wanted from her.

If the other was here, the one who trained her, nursed her, if she was here, then she would know, She would know and she would obey because they were one and together no man could stop them.

"You are in darkness, sister. Come back to us." Bran's voice echoed in the wolf-dream, pulling her out of it and giving her the parts of herself she thought she forgot back. She struggled against it. "Find the Mother of Dragons. She will be your path home."

"No, no, I am no one, no one, no one..." she whispered to the dark, still stubbornly fighting the memories. But it was useless. Her eyes snapped open and she sat up, the weight of who she was settling over her once again.

Jaqen H'ghar sat at the edge of her bed again, but there was no small smile on his face this time. Only a sadness she couldn't understand yet.

"Who are you?" he asked, his voice husky.

She met his eyes boldly. "Arya Stark."

"A truth."

He held his hands out to her, giving her the one thing she could never let go of, even when she thought she was no one. Needle.