She brushed the sweat off her forehead. Some strands of auburn hair clang to her but she paid them no mind.
"Try again.", she heard.
She grinned, flexed her arm again, and focused. She had to shoot in the center of the aim at least once. That was her goal for the day.
Mother didn't like that she learned archery, but Father had nodded his approval and she had been so happy that her aunt had been willing to teach her that Mother had not been able to restrain her eagerness.
She breathed the cold air in, and shot.
Fuuush
The arrow pierced right through the bull's eye and she couldn't help but squeal in joy.
Her aunt bowed her head and looked contempt. But it wasn't until she heard a clap from the balcony that she felt truly accomplished. She lifted her head and saw her mother's gentle eyes on her, a powerful smile on her face, and she felt the pride burst in her.
Light snowflakes fell from the sky. So light they melted as soon as they landed on her face.
Winter was coming to an end. Catlyn had never known spring.
People around Winterfell always said that this winter had been the toughest in a thousand years, and that children born in this season would accomplish great things for they already knew what roughness is. Like princess Rhaenna Targaryen, the daughter of King Jon, who would someday sit on the Iron Throne and rule over the South. They say the world shall not know any wars under her reign, that her parents have battled enough to keep the peace in Westeros and in Essos for five generations.
Catlyn would always ask old Nan to tell her stories about Rhaenna's parents. She loved old Nan's stories, like all the other children. She, her sisters and her cousins would always sit on the ground for hours while listening to her tales when their parents had no time to worry about them. They loved to listen about the Queen Daenerys, Khaleesi of the Dothraki, freer of the Unsullied, the first hatcher of Dragons in centuries. They would ask the old woman about Princess Rhaenna's father too, about the man who united the seven crowns to defeat the Others, who had risked his life to bring the Wildlings on the safe side, he who had been named King in the North once, before his sister the Queen Sansa sat on the Cold Throne.
Winter had been frigid and still. The unmoving death, the world in a state of slumber. Cat had never known anything but the hushed crunch of the snow under her boots, the rare hours of cold light gawking through the heavy clouds that the long and dark nights allowed when the Gods were clement.
They say Spring feels like a kiss one your cheek, a soft whisper of warmth and life. They say the trees bloom and people smile when the sun rises. The fields get filled with green and joy, and the winds wake the forests. They say the days last longer and taste like promises.
And Summer, ah, what they say about summer. They say it is fever in a song, a swirl of heat and drunkenness.
Cat was the eldest after her cousin Ned, but they were only eleven, they did not know. Old Nan had known all the seasons, but old Nan could not always remember everything.
Ned was her best friend. He had red hair too. Not the same red as her, but because they spent all of their time together, people around the castle would always call them the twins kissed by fire.
Sometimes she found herself thinking that she would have liked being his sister, better than she liked being the sister of her actual sisters. All of them liked dresses and embroidery, when she liked riding and fighting. But her aunt had told her once that even if they may be as different as the sun and moon, that the same blood flew through all of their hearts, and that family is cherished.
She loved aunt Arya.
One night, when Mother and Father were too busy with the matters of the realm, the little Cat had sneaked in Ned's chamber to tell him a scary story she had heard. Aunt Arya and Uncle Jaqen had found them, but rather than dismissing her to her own chambers, they had sat with them and laughed to her story. They had recounted another after that, about a Queen named Nymeria, to put them to sleep, just like when they were young children.
Her aunt and uncle had known Summer, as well as Fall and Winter. They had known the warmth, and sometimes they recounted the young ones what it felt like to have the sun bathing your cheeks and fill you to the bones. They had said that summer in Essos was even warmer, like a swirl of light. Ned and Cat had never left Winterfell, Mother was Queen and Aunt Arya was her Hand, they could not leave and travel so easily.
But on this night, Arya and Jaqen had promised the children that someday, they would travel South together, to the capital, so they could all see the spring sun set behind the Narrow sea. They promised to show them the Red Keep, the Iron Throne, the blackened dragon skulls in the Throne Room that look like monsters.
Cat could hardly restrain her contempt when she dreamed about these, about the red stones of the keep, the liveliness of the capital, the Dragons flying above. She had seen Rhaegal when uncle Jon had come to visit a few years ago, but never had she seen the huge black and red Drogon, or the biggest of all, the pure and white Daenera.
Someday she would see them for real, she had made a promise to herself, she who had heard songs about the Great Battle since the time he was at her mother's teat.
And then aunt Arya and uncle Jaqen had promised that they would travel to Braavos too someday, toss a coin in the canals and find a ship there, to figure out what was west of Westeros.
They had kissed after that, and Ned had thrown Cat a sly grin.
THE END
