"Big enough for you?" Snowflakes speckled Tormund's broad face, melting in his hair and beard.

The giants swayed slowly atop the mammoths as they rode past two by two. Brian's horse shied, frightened by such strangeness, but whether it was the mammoths or their riders that scared him it was hard to say. Brian took the horse in hand and held him still, so he could count the giants emerging from the blowing snow and pale mists that swirled along the Milkwater. He was well beyond fifty when Tormund said something and he lost the count. There must be hundreds. No matter how many went past, they just seemed to keep coming. And as for the gnomes, Brian couldn't even begin to count them. There must have been twice as many gnomes as giants at the very least. But Brian didn't worry too much about the gnomes. They were so small. How could they possibly pose a threat to the Night's Watch? He was more concerned with the Manotaurs and their sharp horns.

"I heard you killed a giant once. Is that true?" Brian asked Tormund as they rode.

"Now why would you doubt a mighty man like me? It was winter and I was half a boy, and stupid the way boys are. I went too far and my horse died and then a storm caught me. A true storm, not no little dustin' such as this. Har! I knew I'd freeze to death before it broke. So, I found me a sleepin' giant, cut open her belly, and crawled up right inside her. Kept me warm enough, she did, but the stink near did for me. The worst thing was, she woke up when the spring come and took me for her babe. Suckled me for three whole moons before I could get away. Har! There're times I miss the taste o' giant's milk, though."

"If she nursed you, you couldn't have killed her."

"I never did, but see you don't go spreadin' that about. Tormund Giantsbane has a better ring to it than Tormund Giantsbabe, and that's the honest truth o' it."

Mance came riding up on Brian's other side. "So, what do you think of my army?"

"It's certainly a diverse bunch," Brian said.

Mance nodded. "That it is. Do you know what it takes to unite ninety clans, half of whom want to massacre the other half for one insult or another? They speak seven different languages in my army. The Thenns hate the Hornfoots, the Hornfoots hate the Ice-River clans, the gnomes hate the Manotaurs, everyone hates the Cavepeople. So, you know how I got moon-worshippers and cannibals and giants and gnomes and Manotaurs to march together in the same army?"

"No," said Brian honestly.

"I told them we were all going to die if we don't get south. Cause that's the truth."

"So, you want to conquer Westeros," said Brian.

Mance shook his head. "No! We'd be happy to leave the south to the southerners if it wasn't for the blasted White Walkers. All we want is to get away from them. But the Night's Watch won't let us past the Wall. So, we're going to bring the Wall down!"

This was news to Brian. "How are you gonna do that?"

"We're searching for the Horn of Joramun, a magical warhorn that can bring down the Wall if you blow into it. One blast and the whole thing shatters!"

"Where did you hear about that?" Brian asked curiously.

Mance became evasive. "Oh, it's an old legend. Every man north of the Wall has heard about it." All of a sudden, he wouldn't meet Brian's gaze.

They rode along for a while until they came upon a man sitting on the ground with his eyes rolled back. An eagle circled above him. "This is Orell," said Mance. "He's a warg."

"I'm sorry," said Brian. "I don't know what that is."

"Of course not." Brian looked back to see Ygritte behind him. "You know nothing, Brian Griffin. I'll tell you what a warg is. It's a person who can enter the mind of an animal, seein' what it sees and even controllin' its actions. Orell 'ere is one of our top scouts. 'E wargs into 'is eagle and has 'im fly ahead so 'e can see what's awaitin' us."

Just then, Orell's eyes rolled forward so that the pupils were visible again. He was inhabiting his own body again. "What did you see, Orell?" Mance asked.

"I saw the Fist of the First Men," Orell said. "And many dead crows."

That didn't sound good to Brian. He hoped Steve and Lord Mormont were okay.

When the free folk reached the Fist, it was just as Orell had said. There were corpses everywhere. Of the three hundred guys that set out from Castle Black, over two hundred had been slain by the White Walkers. Brian recognized the bodies of Cartman, Chet, and Softfoot, but he didn't see Steve or Mormont. So, maybe they were still alive.