The she–wolf listened out for Hot Pie's snores before daring to unclench her fists. The ground was mossy and wet beneath her, and the twigs that had come off the trees were nudging at her skin like sharp bones. Maybe the ground would swallow her and she could finally be with her father again.

Arya rolled off her side, too restless to sleep. She raised her hand to her chest, feeling the rhythmic beating of her heart, checking it was still there, numb and dull beneath her flesh. Her hair was unwashed, and she raked her hands through it, frustrated. She was probably uglier than King Joffrey's fat lips. She stood up, wiping at her damp cheek, which had been pressed into the floor for a while now. She spat on her fingers and moved them onto her hair, hoping the moisture would make it less stiff and dirty. She took a few steps and peered into the forest, feeling her heart rise into her throat with groundless fear. Roose Bolton's men could be swarming around them now like flies. Maybe they'd flay her and cook Hot Pie into a real pie.

"Arya." She turned, surprised. Gendry, she realised. He wasn't murmuring her name in his sleep, was he? His silhouette, propped against the moonlight, shifted. Gendry was awake. "Are you going to make water?"

She didn't know what to say, so she hissed back, "Yes. Shut up or Hot Pie'll wake up."

Gendry chuckled sleepily and replied, "As milady commands," in a raspy, quiet voice. Arya felt compelled to watch him settle down by the tree trunk first before setting off in a fast decision to go for a piss. She edged her breeches down over her thighs, squatting down, pretending to urinate in case Gendry came and saw her wandering about and made fun of her. After fifteen seconds or more, she straightened, laced herself up and crept back to her pack, her Gendry and her Hot Pie.

Quietly, like a mouse, she crawled up to Gendry and whispered in his ear. "It's going to rain," she mumbled.

Gendry muttered back after a pause, "How d'you know that?"

"I can smell it…" Arya replied. "Wolves can smell things stupid boys can't."

"I'm not stupid," whispered Gendry. "At least I don't fake pissing at night."

Arya was glad he couldn't see her blush. "Shut up," she said. Gendry laughed under his breath, but he did. She slumped beside him and closed her eyes, remembering the paleness of Roose Bolton's eyes. "Are there ghosts outside Harrenhal?" she asked softly.

"I don't think so," said Gendry. "I've never seen a ghost before. A proper one. I don't think they exist."

"I've never seen your cock before, so it mustn't exist," replied Arya sarcastically, speaking louder than a whisper to obscure her thumping heart.

"Really?" asked Gendry with a deep laugh. "You've never shown such an interest in my body before." Arya elbowed him but to no avail as he slipped his arm around her. The sudden warmth around her made her smile to herself, like she slotted into his arms like a sword into a scabbard or a dagger to a throat. "It's not bad to be afraid, truly," the warm boy said. "And there aren't ghosts, trust me." Arya wanted to scream back that she couldn't trust anyone and that she'd swap him for her father in an instant but then the she–wolf was kissed by his soft lips and it felt as good as Winterfell. "Ghosts don't exist, but love does, I think," Gendry whispered as Arya shyly reached to knit her fingers into his hair and experience what she thought only her sister Sansa wanted to experience.

Gendry's lips made little trails across her mouth and down her neck, over her pulse, and she almost felt grown up. Then she roused her senses as something wet splashed over her forehead and ran down her brow. She looked up, and so did Gendry, as raindrops began splattering over them. Hot Pie's snoring halted and Arya broke away, gazing at the sky with triumph in her grey eyes. "I told you it would rain!" she hissed at Gendry, and he stood up and grabbed her hand and they laughed together and shivered with cold and warmth at the same time as a torrent poured over them.