Independence felt good. Independence was something Bran could seldom have. Sure, he got to be by himself quite often, but being alone and unable to walk reminded him of something he once saw whilst out riding. Bran would ride farther north than Robb and Jon; who were far too busy mucking around to notice he was gone. Being the youngest, Bran loved every drop of independence he received, whether it was given to him or he had taken it. As innocent as Bran was- he knew someday he was going to get hurt by his curiosity. He just wasn't so sure it was coming as soon as it was. Bran thought about this, he had seen people punished for things like this, but he wondered how the old gods were going to punish him. These thoughts passed through his mind for the second last time before his accident, as he was galloping madly on a dirt track he found not far off the Kings road. He could still hear Jon and Robb's bickering about whose dire wolf will grow to be the strongest; Bran still wasn't far as he needed to be. He knew that if he didn't ride far enough ahead in time, his brothers would notice he was gone too soon, and so Bran rode until he could no longer hear the hooves of his brothers horses crushing the crisp, frozen sticks and could no longer hear their voices. Bran loved to ride north, despite being stuck in Winterfell, as freezing as it was- Bran loved that the farther north he rode, the cooler it became. Old Nan had told him stories of the south and places like Kings Landing, Pentos and Vaes Dothrak. These places that experienced summers that Bran would never know were the only places that Bran had no interest in exploring. Bran liked the cold, unlike his father's banner men- whom would always mention their pleasures in the south. He never minded Old Nans tales, he took an interest to the stories of the Targaryens, the last dragons. Bran found them interesting, how- much like the Starks, the Targaryens had a strong connection to the animal which was the sigil of their house. Bran didn't like many other sigils; he didn't understand certain ones, especially the Greyjoy sigil. The boy had often wondered how a some creature that looked like a squid could help one in battle or symbolise the greatness and honour of their house. Battle was all Bran could dream of, being a knight. So as he rode his horse far off into the North, he pretended to be one.
It took surprisingly long for Bran to become bored of pretending, but he wasn't bored for long. As a curious, young, innocent boy- Bran Stark started to find things to which he would allocate meaning. He soon decided every moving thing he saw was a symbol; every step taken was for a reason. Bran paid special attention to a crow he saw, the crow was moving north; he followed unquestioning until he found himself trotting into what looked like an overgrown, rotting stable. He remembered the stables at Winterfell; his poor unnamed Direwolf was tied up there, waiting for him. Thoughts of his brothers came into his mind. Thoughts of Jon, Robb and poor little Rickon; not yet old enough to go out riding, or even mount a horse. Bran thought about one of Old Nans tales, this one was about a man who was a water dancer. Not quite sure how water or dancing had anything to do with fighting, Bran still enjoyed the story (he pretended not to; since dancing was not the way of a knight. Especially not a knight of Winterfell). From the story, the only line he could remember was something the water dancer said in moments of hassle- "Fear cuts deeper than swords". He thought that would be something to remember whilst fighting for the north. "Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords." Bran whispered to himself as clenched the rains of his horse, ducked his head under the surprisingly low door frame and trotted in. Unaware of the eyes of many crows watching his every move from the surrounding trees and bushes.