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THE WOLF'S EYES

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The wolf howled and stared into the woods. It was dark, but her sight was so clear, she could see the leaves rustling with every breeze. It made her vigilant. Then she caught it. The sense of blood pumping through her prey's body. It was a man, running. She could smell his fear from two hundred yards away. This wasn't just hurried running, this man was horrified. Nymeria eyed ahead and nodded over to her pack. They started moving forward, cloaked by their furs in the darkness. Suddenly her instinct felt something coming and put her on high alert. Seconds later, her vision blurred out and she felt overwhelmed by an undetectable spirit. She let it take her over. She let it in. Nymeria knew this feeling; she had felt it before when she was young, before she had left her friend. Arya.

Arya dreamt she had entered the mind of her lost direwolf. In her dream, she had seen everything from her wolf's perspective. She wasn't a little girl in her dream. She was a direwolf, huge and powerful. Nymeria had gone hunting, but really it had been Arya who was running in her pelt. She had felt the cushions underneath her feet as she moved between the grey weirwood, and when she had emerged from beneath the trees, it had been her who had bared her teeth in a low rumbling growl. Arya had seen the wolves tear the flesh from the fresh kill she had made. She didn't have any control over her actions, all she felt was the urge to feed. The man they had attacked was fully clothed in black furs. From what she had seen, Arya concluded that he had been a man of the Night's Watch. A crow. The raw, bloody flavor of meat in her mouth had left Arya delirious, but now that she had woken up she could still taste it and she felt disgusted. 'It all looked so real, so vivid and alive,' she thought.

It had been three years since she had set the direwolf loose to escape Cersei's guards. They would have put her down if they had found her, but even after all this time she regretted her mistake. It had only led to bad luck and loneliness. Nymeria had been her only friend when she grew up. They had a connection like no one else; it was as if they actually understood each other, as if they were the same person at times.

She looked around her and remembered where she was. The Inn of the Kneeling Man was quiet and deserted. There were several cracks in the walls from the scavengers that had been occupying the place before her. The bastards had killed the innkeeper and his boy. She found them dead with the crossbow bolt still stuck in their chest. It had taken her two days to get them buried. At first Arya had felt the urge to track them down and slice their throats in the nights, but they had abandoned in a hurry and the trail was cold. They were gone.

It was time for her to move as well. Riverrun was three hours away. Apart from Winterfell, it was the only place where she could be safe. Maybe her family was there. Or at least, whatever was left of it. She had witnessed what they had done to her brother Robb and her mother at the Crossing. Arya held back her tears and pressed her lips together. Now was not the time for this. She started scouring the Inn for provisions and was ready to go on her way south, when she heard horses and men approaching. Quickly she leaped behind a door into a darkened nook, and spied through one of the cracks. Her heart started thumping in her chest. As silent as possible she reached for Needle, the handmade sword on her waist that she had gotten from her brother Jon. Stick 'em with the pointy end, she remembered.

Through the crack she saw three men come in. The first one was tall, had short slick black hair and huge hands. He was very muscular and carried a giant war hammer on his back. The second one looked younger, but he wore steel plate armor with a purple cloak. His face was handsome with strong cheekbones and dark eyes. The last one was an elder knight with an eye patch. Arya was certain she had seen him before, but whenever she seemed to remember where from, the thought fled from her mind because someone in the room moved.

"We'll rest here. Feed the horses, check the rooms for supplies" said the one-eyed knight. "And someone get Thoros for me, please."

The buffed man walked back out and another man walked in. His hair was fiery red and he wore a long brown stained robe, with a sword buckled around his waist. This time Arya remembered. This man was Thoros of Myr, the famous Red Priest her father used to tell tales about. He used to compete in tourneys, where he would raise flaming sword in the air before lunging forward to commence his one-on-one swordfight for glory.

"You asked for me, my lord?"

"There's no use in calling me a lord now, Thoros. I have no lands to return to and my holdings are in ruins."

"I like the formality of it. It makes me feel like we're not just a band of pillagers."

"What would you have me do then? We don't get paid for chivalry and heroism. You knew what we were getting into, and now we're outlaws on both sides of the war."

"I know," Thoros answered. He sighed.

"The Young Wolf's army is scattered, Riverrun has surrendered to a nephew of the Freys and these Lannister patrols keep moving up the Kingsroad. We are losing men every day. But let's just focus on getting back to the others for now. How far until we reach the cave?" the knight asked.

"Three miles maybe? Most of our trail marks to the cave have been washed away by last night's rain."

"We must make it by the end of the night. I won't risk another night on the road."

While Arya was focusing on the two men talking, she hadn't noticed the purple-cloaked boy approaching, and now that she had, she panicked and stumbled backwards with a loud thud. She anxiously restored her balance and grabbed Needle's handle, but it was to late. The boy unsheathed his sword and with its tip he opened the door and stared right into Arya's eyes. His surprised face quickly turned into regret, as if he was already apologizing for what was coming. Then his sword's hilt struck her temple, and she passed out.