Black clouds covered the sky. Nyssa lifted her hands to catch the first of the snowfall. A drop of blood struck her palm as a lone wolf howled in the distance. Blood fell thick around her, scorching the ground. The wolf called to her.

Nyssa woke with her mouth dry as a bone and her heart thumping as if to beat itself free of her breast. Gosta snored beside her, the weight of one of his arms flung across her neck making it difficult to breathe until she rolled out from under him. He settled into the warmth left behind from her body, but did not wake. Their tent of furs was not large enough to stand in, so Nyssa slithered like a snake on her belly. More snow had fallen in the night, almost burying them, and she dug her way out.

The sun had not yet risen. Starlight bathed the mountains in silver. Nyssa took shallow breaths of the freezing air as she marveled at the landscape of the Frostfangs. For a fortnight, she and Gosta had scoured the mountains for rams, but their hunt had not been successful. Though she hated to return home empty-handed, the time had come to descend, for winter was coming and they did not want to find themselves stuck in the Fangs. They had climbed these mountains many times, and knew them better than most, but they were not fools enough to believe they could withstand the ravages of winter.

Nyssa scooped up a handful of snow to clear the foul taste in her mouth. As she watched the sun slowly make its appearance, she thought of the dreams that had plagued her during their trip. Always there was a wolf howling and blood rained from the sky. She did not know what it meant. Her mother had been gifted with the Sight, but in all of her seventeen years, Nyssa had not experienced a single premonition, and she'd long since accepted that her mother's gift had passed her by. She longed for her mother now as she had not for many years, wishing she could ask her about the dreams, and what they meant, but her mother was long since dead, no more than ashes on the wind. She could ask Greta, the old mage, though the woman was more mad than mystical.

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of her neck rose, as if someone was watching her. She had felt the presence before during the journey and she turned quickly, hoping to catch the mysterious stalker at last, but no one was there that she could see. The wind cut across her cheeks. She thought she heard a voice, though the words were carried away before she could catch them. One by one, the stars faded as the sun won over the sky, and the glittering mountaintops rose out of the darkness all around her. Gosta's snores had faded. She heard him curse as he untangled himself from his sleeping fur. Soon, his head appeared, followed by the rest of him, and he stood, stretching his arms to the sky.

While he woke, Nyssa set about packing, rolling up their furs and strapping them to her back. She was eager to begin the final descent and reach home before nightfall. Her sister, Iona, would be waiting. "Come," she said, "Let's go."

"What about breakfast?" said Gosta.

Nyssa tossed him a strip of dried walrus blubber, and then, without waiting for him to follow, she leapt from the ledge where they'd set up camp the night before, landing ten feet below on an even narrower outcropping of rock. They were careful not to slip on the ice as they continued down, and they did not speak, needing their full concentration to find a way to the ground. By noon, they had reached the bottom, and Gosta insisted they take a break.

"We have plenty of time to cross the plains," he insisted, as he set about making a fire for them to warm themselves. There was only a dusting of snow here. She knew it was wise to pause and regather their strength, yet she could not shake her feelings of unease as they sat in the shadow of the Frostfangs. Every few minutes, she glanced behind her, and once she thought she saw a pair of luminous green eyes that turned out to be only a patch of moss clinging to the rock face at their back.

"Are we being followed?" said Gosta.

"No," said Nyssa, "I don't think so." She had searched for signs all morning, footprints in the snow, and found nothing to suggest they were not alone.

As he held his hands to the fire, Gosta watched her. It was unusual for her to be so on edge. "Is it the dreams?" he said. Nyssa had again been staring at the mossy patch, but at his words, she turned her head sharply and Gosta laughed at her expression of surprise. "I've shared a tent with you these last few weeks," he said. "Hard not to notice when you howl in your sleep."

"It's nothing," said Nyssa hurriedly.

"Liar," said Gosta. They had known each other since they were children. He was as a brother to her. She could not fool him even if she tried. "You've been odder than usual, always looking over your shoulder. You think it's a vision, don't you, like your mother had?"

"No," said Nyssa. She did not want to believe it. Never had she had any desire to be a Seer like her mother. She did not concern herself with the gods anymore than they had done with her and she hoped that if she ignored them they would leave her alone as they had for the past seventeen years. Gosta seemed to know the direction of her thoughts.

"You can't run from the gods," he said. "If it is a vision, then-"

"It's not," said Nyssa firmly, getting to her feet. She covered their fire with snow and did not wait for him to put on his gloves before setting out across the plains, the final stretch of their long journey. Gosta quickly caught up to her. It seemed she could not outrun him anymore than she could the gods.

"I don't want to talk about it," she said before he could go on. Though he continued to look at her shrewdly, he said no more on the matter. She found she could breathe easy again once they were free of the Frostfangs' shadow and she no longer felt she was being watched by the Unseen. Perhaps she could leave the dreams in the mountains as well.

The sun had set again by the time Gosta and Nyssa returned to camp and parted ways. She was not surprised to find Iona waiting for her in the entrance of the hut they shared. Her sister always knew when she was coming home. Iona threw her arms around Nyssa, held her for a moment, and then drew back to punch her arm.

"What was that for?" said Nyssa, rubbing the sore spot.

"You were supposed to be back days ago," said Iona. "I hope you have something to show for being gone so long."

Nyssa held out her arms. She had nothing but the pack she'd set out with. "There wasn't much to be found," she admitted.

"Well," said Iona, "at least you won't be going again."

"You could always come with us next time," said Nyssa, following her sister into the hut. She immediately began stripping off her damp clothes. A fire blazed in the dug-out and she stood, naked as a newborn, before the flames, letting the warmth seep into her body. Iona draped a dry fur around her bare shoulders.

"Go into the Fangs?" said Iona, laughing. "No, I'll stay and wait as I always do. You and Gosta can keep the adventures for yourself. I'd rather keep warm."

Nyssa sat by the fire, still naked beneath the fur, and took the bowl of soup Iona offered her. She slurped it down, enjoying the heat in her belly, even though the soup was mostly broth and not very filling. It would not be an easy winter. Food was already scarce.

Iona settled beside her, resting her head on Nyssa's shoulder, and Nyssa felt more at ease than she had since setting out a fortnight ago. Come what may, she and her sister would find a way, as they always had. They were used to taking care of themselves. Their parents had been gone for many years, since they were children, and they had raised each other ever since.

Fatigue washed over Nyssa and her eyes grew heavy. Iona took the empty bowl and led her sister to their bed. The fire burned low as they burrowed together, face to face. "Did you see any Children?" said Iona.

"Don't be silly," said Nyssa, though she thought again of the green eyes she'd thought she had seen, but it was easy to forget her fears now that she was home. What could the Children of the Forest possibly want with her? She was no one special- just an orphaned girl. "Go to sleep now," she said before Iona could ask anything more. Iona snuggled closer to her, holding her tightly, and Nyssa finally allowed her eyes to close. There would be no dreams tonight, she hoped.

The song of stone against steel filled the air as Nyssa sharpened her blade. The dagger had once belonged to her father. She was never without it and often she counted the notches in the walrus-bone hilt, one for every man her father had killed.

"I think your blade is sharp enough," said Gosta. He stood turning a haunch of goat over the fire. The smell made Nyssa's mouth water.

"There's no such thing as sharp enough," she said, though she set aside her whetting stone all the same. Next to her, Iona picked through the painted walrus bone beads in her lap, each of them painted in blues, reds, and greens, as she tried to decide which ones to braid into her long, red hair. She picked up a blue bead and held it up to catch the firelight. The men of the camp had begun taking an interest in Iona, kissed by fire as she was, but they knew better than to act on their desires. Nyssa was quick to use her dagger on anyone who tried. A few foolish men had already lost a finger or two and the rest had learned from their mistakes.

Heated voices rose from a nearby tent where Bone Dust hosted another of his meetings. Nyssa could not make out a single voice among the many, but she knew what was being discussed: Mance Rayder, the King-Beyond-the-Wall. It was no secret that Bone Dust was eager for their tribe to join with Rayder, but there was dissent among the people, with half of them in agreement and the other half spitting at the self-proclaimed king's name. Nyssa cared little for Mance Rayder. She had enough concerns with winter coming. War was far from her thoughts.

"Do you think they'll go?" said Gosta.

"Yes," said Nyssa. She was certain that Bone Dust would set out soon enough with those who agreed with him. She looked at Gosta across the fire. "Will you go with them?"

"Father is against it," he said. "Says we're Free Folk and we shouldn't have kings, but look where that's gotten us."

"We have enough," said Iona.

"We have snow," said Gosta.

"And our freedom," she reminded him.

"Freedom isn't much use if we're frozen to death or starved."

Nyssa stood. She had heard this argument too many times and was not interested in hearing it again. Her place was here on the Frozen shore, where she had been born, where her parents had lived and died, and their parents before them.

"Where are you going?" said Iona.

"To take a piss," said Nyssa, ruffling her sister's hair.

The clan was rowdy tonight. All the talk of war had brought the peoples' blood to boiling, with brothers arguing against brother, and husbands against wives. Nyssa sought out a quiet spot on the edge of the settlement. She dropped her britches, the cold air stinging her rear, and squatted to release herself. Steam rose where her urine melted the snow. As she was tying the laces of her britches, she heard footsteps from behind, and spun around with her dagger at the ready.

"Easy girl," said Bone Dust. Nyssa lowered her knife, but not her guard. Though he was a member of her clan, she did not trust him.

"Drink?" he said, offering her his skein of fermented goat's milk.

"Another night," she said. "Is your council over so soon?"

"You would know if you'd come," said Bone Dust. "Join us. We could use a fighter like you."

"And what of Iona? She has no stomach for blood. I can't leave her behind."

Bone Dust took a swig from his skein and shrugged. "She would be looked after," he said. "Or bring her along. She's a good cook. Don't you want a better life for her?" He took a step closer. Nyssa held her ground. She ran her thumb over the notches in the hilt of her father's dagger. "Think of what we could have. Rayder will take us over the Wall and we will reclaim the land that is rightfully ours."

Nyssa met his gaze and saw nothing but a hunger she did not share. "The land belongs to itself and to the gods," she said firmly.

Bone Dust scowled. "Pity," he said. "Your father would've been with us. He was a great warrior."

"And now he's dead," said Nyssa. She shouldered past Bone Dust, leaving him alone to his schemes. She knew that she and Iona had a better chance of surviving winter than a war. By the time she returned to the fire, Iona and Gosta had put aside their argument. She took over for Gosta turning the goat's leg. There would be no meat soon enough, so she relished the smell of it now while Gosta told Iona of their journey, most of it lies to make himself seem more impressive, but Nyssa did not bother to correct him. She put aside her thoughts of Bone Dust and her dreams, as she and her sister laughed at Gosta's outrageous lies. She was home, and soon their bellies would be full, and that was all she cared about.

That night, however, she heard the wolf calling to her, and she woke in a cold sweat. It seemed the howls were closer every night, but she would not hear them. She watched her sister sleeping, untroubled by the gods, and begged them to leave her alone as well.

The Bay of Ice stretched further than the eye could see. Glaciers sparkled in the distance. Soon the few traders who came from the South would cease to make the journey and the tribe would no longer be able to barter for certain necessities they could not craft themselves. Nyssa stood close to shore with her fishing pole over her shoulder. It was a fine day, likely one of the last they would have. She watched her sister gliding across the frozen surface of the bay, to the very center, where she cut a hole into the ice with her axe. Within minutes, she pulled a fish from the water, and stroked its silver scales as she removed the hook from its mouth. Iona was no huntress, but she caught fish like no one else. She sang to them and they came to her.

"I hear tell that Bone Dust is trying to recruit you," said Gosta, joining her by the shore with a basket of his own catches.

"You hear too much," said Nyssa. "It must be those big ears of your's."

Gosta ignored the insult, which he'd heard many times before. "You refused him."

Nyssa nodded. "And you did not," she said. Though Gosta had not told her as much, she had sensed his frustration growing ever since they had returned empty-handed from the Fangs. There was nothing to keep him here. His father would be taken care of by those who stayed behind and he had no siblings.

"When will you go?" said Nyssa.

"Soon."

"Will you tell Iona or will you make me?"

Gosta winced. Neither him nor Iona had confessed how they felt about each other, not as far as Nyssa was aware, but she had watched them tiptoe around each other for years. "I'll tell her," he said. After a pause, he looked at Nyssa, the color rising in his cheeks. "Do you think she'll wait for me?"

Nyssa watched her sister pull another fish onto the ice. If she had needed any further proof of Gosta's decision to leave, she had it now, for he would not speak of his feelings for Iona otherwise.

"She's always waited for you," said Nyssa. She looked to Gosta and smiled. "So you had better come back to us or she will never forgive you."

Relief flooded Gosta's face. He looked like the boy she remembered and not the man he'd become. He had always been her brother. She could think of no one who she would trust her sister to besides him.

"I will come back for you," he said. "Both of you. I'll take one of the Southerner's castles for my own and we will live out the rest of our days behind stone walls. I promise you."

Nyssa could not bring herself to crush his hopes. She clasped his hand and held it over her heart. "Brother," she said, "I will miss you." She could not remember a day that they had not been together. Seeing him go would be unbearable, but she would not stand in the way of what had always been his desire, to venture over the Wall.

Iona was flying back to them, smiling like the sun, her red braids whipping behind her. Nyssa let go of Gosta's hand. "Tell her now," she said as she gathered her fishing basket. She left Gosta to meet Iona on the shore and set off for camp with the intention of having a few fish ready to fry by the time they returned.

As she approached the circle of huts, however, Nyssa was struck by the heavy silence where usually laughter and singing filled the air. Something was not right. She felt it in her bones. The temperature had dropped rapidly and she no longer felt the sun's warmth, only bitter cold. She drew her knife and quickened her pace, only to stop dead in her tracks as soon as she passed the first tent. There, sprawled in the entryway, was a little girl, no more than five years old, her eyelashes glittering with frost and her skin drained of all color. Nyssa did not need to inspect the girl more closely to know that she was dead and, her heart racing, she hurried on.

There were bodies everywhere, frozen and fallen where they had stood, and the silence only deepened. Nyssa dared not believe her eyes. Except for the dead, everything was the same as she'd left it, fires still burning, huts still standing. Finally, she came to Gosta's hut to find his father cold and lifeless. She crouched by the old man, who had seen to it that she and Iona did not starve after their own parents died, and touched his face, twisted into an unrecognizable expression of horror, his eyes wide open. He was colder than ice. Even when she withdrew her hand, the coldness stayed with her, spreading over her skin.

Nyssa could hardly bare leaving the old man, but as the cold wind whipped around her, she heard a voice. Run, it said, go now. She thought of Gosta and Iona, certain they must be nearing the camp by now, and she knew they must not enter. Though there was no one here besides the dead, she sensed the danger was not far gone. Clambering to her feet, setting aside her own shock and horror, she did as the voice commanded and ran as fast as she could.