The patrol was a lost cause from the start.

Everyone knew it.

Geoff and Cain wouldn't shut up about it the whole journey.

Wyatt himself was beginning to wonder why he agreed to such a pointless expedition.

And now, even watching old Qhorin Half-Hand ride tireless on through the snow, he probably was beginning to think the same thing as well.

"I think we should turn back," Geoff muttered under his breath. "Stark would never have made it this far."

"What difference does it make what you think?" Cain hissed, clenching his hands tightly for warmth. "I could have just volunteered for extra watch duty instead of this…."

"Shut it you two." Qhorin snapped back to the rangers. He always seemed to have a keen ear when it came to men talking behind his back. "Wyatt, how many leagues have we gone?"

Wyatt's map was crude, but reliable, "Five since passing the last marker, but our pace has slowed since this morning." Wyatt replied, glancing up at the dusk colored sky. Nightfall was quickly approaching, and with it the likely hood of frostbite.

Geoff's mood was to growing sour. "If you could keep pace instead of riding like a pregnant sow, we would be leagues closer to the end of this bloody patrol!"

"We have a better chance of finding Stark then that happening," Cain pitched in with his annoying grin; the pair of them had been like this from the start of their journey. They always were quick to point out Wyatt's physical shortcomings, no doubt a way to take their frustrations out on the lone steward. Wyatt had grown used to it back at Castle Black, but out in the cold even his patience was nearing its limit.

Wyatt brushed it aside, focusing on his job, scanning at the vast, pale horizon "If he had gone this way, he would have left another marking."

Qhorin shook his head, unpersuaded. "This isn't like him. Any ranger worth his salt wouldn't just leave his trail unless he had a damn good-

The loud shriek of ravens shattered the silence, sending a chill down Wyatt's spine much differently from the cold. No doubt the scavengers had found a prize, cheering over the frozen carcass of something or someone. Such bird in this land accompanied the dead or dying, and nothing in this hell could survive for long.

Their foul cries signaled the worst for most that lose their way.

The Half-Hand dismounted and drew his sword without making a sound. "Cain, stay with Wyatt and the horses," Qhorin ordered as he began to carefully make his way through the snow towards the ravens. "Geoff, with me."

Geoff shook his head but reluctantly drew his sword and followed behind. "It's probably nothing but a dead animal…"

"Oi, why am I stuck playing the wet nurse?" Cain quipped, looking over at the steward with a mocking grin. Wyatt was too tired and cold to bother with an argument right now, and didn't want give Cain the satisfaction of getting under his skin.

The two rangers started down the snowy drift to investigate the noise, leaving Wyatt to guard the trail with Cain. Despite their long journey, no evidence except the trail markers left by Benjen Stark had been found since leaving Castle Black. Wyatt had heard that first ranger Stark had gone missing, and many hoped he would one day be seen, marching back from a near death encounter that he somehow survived due to his expertise and resourcefulness. But as the days and nights passed, many brothers slowly gave up that fantasy, only to now assume the worst.

That's when the Lord Commander began to send out these expeditions, hoping to find a faint trail to Stark's whereabouts, or just evidence of what could have happened to him. Men sent on such patrols never found much more than just the markers left on trees to find their way back to the safety of the wall. It was as if Benjen Stark had simply decided to vanish from existence, lost to the vast wilderness of the north.

"You think he's still alive?" Cain asked, rubbing his hands for warmth

Wyatt shrugged, "If he is, he's likely a prisoner. Or worse a turncoat. Both are equally likely in my opinion."

Now it was Cain's turn to be annoyed. "Of course you would say that. Stark lived for the night's watch, and is a man who gave up his nobility for his duty."

"Mance Rayder also lived for the watch. Now he is the self-proclaimed king-beyond-the-wall."

"Careful Wyatt…"

Wyatt just shook his head. Cain already silently loathed him, along with the rest of the rangers in the watch. So perhaps Stark wasn't a turncoat. Perhaps he was still alive living off the land, trying desperately to get back to his fellow rangers. Perhaps he was frozen stiff in some dark forest, dead. Or perhaps he had sailed across the Narrow Sea, becoming a raider and living the adventurous life he had secretly wanted to for years.

The point was, no one knew. So what difference did it make what he thought?

Despite his personal feelings, it was still best in his best interest to save face and apologize. "Look Cain, I meant nothing-

Cain held up his hand, silencing him, "Shut up," he hissed, scanning the woods. "You hear that?"

Wyatt glanced around. "No, I-

An arrow flew between the two, nearly missing Wyatt's head, the wind of the deadly projectile snapping him into a sudden rush of adrenaline. Instinctively, he drew his sword from his belt, and turned to face where ambush had come from.

He barely had time to yell before a mountain of muscle and fur was charging at them. A man, no a beast of a man nearly twice his size was running towards them, a crude axe held above his massive head. The wilding easily covered the distance, and his axe was soon swinging towards the two.

Wyatt dove away, hearing the axe slam in to the frozen ground with enough force to feel his body shake. He rolled through the snow to give himself distance, but already he was silently panicking at the colossal foe he was facing.

Cain had drawn his sword as well, and now bravely charged the wilding easily twice his size. "For the watch!" He cried, swing his steel at their attacker. The wilding flung his axe, easily swatting Cain's sword aside. The two began a tense duel, with Cain ducking and diving, while the giant wilding flung his axe aggressively, with massive swings that seemed to be able to fell trees with a single swoop. Cain was easily unmatched, like a child trying to desperately fight a grown adult.

Wyatt clenched his sword hilt, anger and fear overwhelming him all in one sickening feeling. "Come on Wyatt you craven. For once, do something out of character for a change!"

Cain seemed to be holding his own by dodging the Wilding giant's powerful swings. However, another arrow from the woods hit found it's target in Cain's leg, causing the ranger to yell out in pain and collapse to the ground.

The giant now raised his axe, preparing to deliver the killing blow.

Without thinking, Wyatt charged, yelling and raising his sword without regard for his own safety. By some miracle, his sword found the target, stabbing itself into the wilding's thigh. The giant let out a roar of pain, and for a second Wyatt thought he might be able to deliver the killing blow.

Before he could continue his attack, a fur covered fist slammed into Wyatt's head, sending the small steward flailing into the snow. The force inflicted so much pain it nearly caused him to black out, but somehow he managed to keep his wits.

Now the giant turned his attention to Wyatt. The wilding brought the axe over his massive head, the crude weapon now aimed over Wyatt's neck. Everything seemed to slow down, and he began to slowly realize that this was his end. He was going to die here in this forsaken, frozen hell. No one would remember his name. No one would weep for his passing, and no one would tell stories of his memory.

Despite these thoughts, he felt the hilt of his sword, and was surprised he had managed to keep it despite the blow to his head. He raised the point as far as he could in front of him and closed his eyes, expecting a painful demise.

He waited for the axe to fall, but he felt nothing. Instead, a heavy weight had landed itself on his chest, knocking the wind out of him, but no pain. He opened his eyes, seeing a man's face with a thick beard pressed against his shoulder. The man's eyes were motionless and devoid of life, as if they were frozen like a statue.

The wildling lay dead atop of Wyatt, a sword piercing straight through his chest. Wyatt let out a sharp breath, the excitement of battle still flowing through him. By some fools luck, he had managed to kill the man by getting him to fall on his sword.

Wyatt struggled to free himself from the corpse, and looked around for his fellow brother. "Cain! Help, I can't-

And that's when he saw him. An arrow through the chest, and a crimson cut across the throat. Wyatt had forgotten about the archer. Cain lay frozen on the ground, and a slender figure was calmly walking towards him through the snow.

The second wildling stood above him, his blade covered in blood. He wore a fur hood, but Wyatt could make out his facial features. Unlike his friend, he was slender and small. The bones of his face were precisely defined, with no trace of stubble like a young man's. However his eyes were cold and devoid of any mercy.

Wyatt struggled to free his sword, but the weight of the dead body easily stopped him. Wordlessly, the wildling gently placed the blade on the young steward's neck. He could still feel the warm blood on its edge.

Suddenly, a black figure dove into the wildling, tackling him to the ground with enough force to knock the blade away. A struggle began in the snow nearby, with Wyatt quickly recognized the face of Qhorin Half-Hand. The old ranger easily overwhelmed his opponent with such strength and speed it was remarkable someone of his age could muster.

Geoff had soon appeared as well, and the two now easily subdued the wildling. "Hand me the rope, bind the hands!" Qhorin ordered. Geoff shoved the wildling's face into the snow as they restrained their attacker.

Wyatt let out a breath he hadn't realize he had been holding. Now he had dodged death twice in as many minutes. "This will is the last time I volunteer for these patrols, the Watch be damned…"

"Stop kicking, or will bind those too!" Geoff barked, gripping the prisoner tightly by the back of the neck.

Qhorin placed his knee into the wildling's back. "Go help Wyatt, I'll handle this."

Geoff reluctantly released his grip and went over to move the massive corpse. He knelt down and pushed with all his strength to free the trapped steward.

"Funny you'd survive, craven."" He hissed, finally pushing the last amount of weight off.

Wyatt glared and struggled to his feet. "I didn't flee, I was-"

"Enough!" Qhorin barked, glaring at the two. "We still have this to deal with." He grabbed their prisoner and brought him to his feet.

"Gladly," Geoff said, drawing his sword. "Slit his throat, let him die just like Cain!"

Getting a better look know, Wyatt suddenly realized that their prisoner wasn't who he seemed. Or rather, she wasn't what she seemed.

"A woman," Wyatt said, now seeing her dark hair underneath her hood. Despite all the fur she was wearing for warmth, she easily had a feminine figure. She had a mysterious beauty to him, but her expression was still cold and distant. Her eyes were silently staring downwards at the man Wyatt had somehow managed to kill.

But her features weren't what Wyatt noticed most about her. On her wrist was a silver chain bracelet, masterfully crafted, and adorned with a wolf's head

Qhorin had noticed the bracelet too, and examined it for a closer look. "A direwolf…"

Wyatt realized the importance. "The sigil of house Stark."

Qhorin gripped the woman's wrist, shaking it. "This. Where did you get this."

The young woman defiantly stood silent, ignoring the question and holding her stare at the body of the other wildling.

"She's a wildling and a killer all the same," Geoff snarled, pointing his sword. "Quit wasting time and just end her."

"And kill our best chance at finding Stark?"

Geoff shook his head. "What chance? She doesn't know where Stark is!"

Wyatt found himself agreeing with Geoff. "He's right. At best, she just stumbled upon an old camp and must have found it left behind. Besides, we can't afford to keep prisoners with this journey. Keeping her alive will just endanger us all."

"You two are both fools, and this isn't your choice," Qhorin snapped, taking the bracelet off the woman's wrist. "Geoff, go get the kid. We'll take them both back to the wall."

Geoff shook his head in disgust. "Sod that!"

"Do it! Or I'll punish you for refusing my command! Don't worry though, losing a finger or two won't stop you from performing your duties, trust me."

Reluctantly, Geoff obeyed and sheathed his sword. He set off back down the hill, muttering curses under his breath.

"Child?" Wyatt asked, "Wait, what child?"

"That noise we heard was the ravens, scavenging from the dead." Qhorin explained. "There was a camp we found abandoned, with nearly a dozen dead save for one: A young girl."

Suddenly, the prisoner spoke up. "Please, don't leave her." The young woman surprised them both when she suddenly spoke, surprising Wyatt that she knew common tongue. "Kill me, but don't leave her."

"Oh, is that so?" Qhorin said, carefully studying her now worried expression. "Well, that completely depends on you and your truthfulness. Wyatt, get the horses and bind her on Cain's mount. The Lord Commander will want to speak to her."