"There's more o' them every day."

Jon Snow couldn't help but agree with Tormund Giantsbane's words. The leader of this wildling band that Jon had found himself attached to looked on with the rest of them as five more direwolves went by. The horses skittered at the sight of them yet none of the direwolves paid any heed to them. Their eyes may have flickered over to them once or twice, but other than take in the sight of them, they did nothing and simply moved on.

Some of the other men and women in this group shied away from the beasts, turning to put at much distance between themselves and the direwolves, though that was becoming harder to achieve as the days went on. Jon himself had counted at least fifty direwolves yesterday whilst he was surveying the rest of Mance Rayder's great host, though he had lost count after that. Even so, at least fifty direwolves, it sounded impossible, but he knew better. Ghost and his brothers and sisters had been found south of the Wall, that seemed like a lifetime ago now that he was thinking of it, and Jon took a breath to get his head straight and continued to watch the five new direwolves along with half of their section of the column.

Four of them had grey coats of fur whilst the fifth and apparent leader of this group had midnight black fur. Almost looks like Shaggydog, Jon thought to himself, and he forced himself to not think of his brothers or of Winterfell. He had a job to do, a duty to the Night's Watch, to make sure that Qhorin Halfhand's plan didn't end up as nothing. They all slowed down the pace of their horses somewhat as the five direwolves cut a path straight through the column without a care in the world, and Jon noted that everyone else did most the same, for there were few people who would want to draw the White Wolf's wrath.

"How many's he got?" Dormund, one of Tormund's sons, asked. The man looked almost exactly like his father except for the fact that his hair and beard were reddish brown instead of white. His voice was deep when he spoke and that too sounded like Tormund's own.

"At least sixty from what I can see." Longspear Ryk said from his horse. He was on Jon's left just on the other side of Ygritte. The wildling girl stuck close to Jon ever since his talk with Mance Rayder, though she hadn't said much in that tent, she seemed to want to stick with him anyway.

"Har!" Tormund laughed and twisted on his garron so that he could look at them. "Makin' Varamyr look like a little boy with his six pets!"

Jon couldn't help but smile along with the rest of them. Varamyr Sixskins had indeed been knocked off his throne as the warg with the most beasts under his control. The White Wolf had surpassed the other man almost as soon as the host had started its march south towards the Wall. Everyone knew Ragnar on sight, the massive white direwolf was the size of a horse and impossible to miss, but he was soon joined by others. Jon didn't know where they were coming from, they just seemed to appear from the woods, and the pack just kept growing. First it was just the White Wolf and his horse sized direwolf Ragnar, then it was them and three others that were more of Ghost's size, and then there were ten, and then fifteen, and so on.

By the time that number had reached thirty Jon understood why some called the man the Warg King.

It had caused quite the stir at first, some of the other wildlings had panicked at the sight of so many direwolves all under the same pack, whilst others had tried to hunt them. Those that were scared were reassured by Mance Rayder or some of his people and those that had tried to hunt them for their pelts soon found themselves without throats and their bodies burnt. Word was quickly spread that the direwolves were off limits to hunting and to be left alone. Jon was more than happy to follow that order, though he was more than a little nervous for his own direwolf, Ghost out by himself on a hunt or some such.

The many other direwolves that the White Wolf commanded hadn't attacked Ghost so far, but Jon was still wary, and he kept Ghost close to him as much as he could. He looked down at his direwolf and red eyes looked back at him. Ghost's tongue was hanging out slightly from his mouth and it made not a sound. At least his direwolf was still the only one who could get this quiet, all the others he had seen were certainly loud, and the howling at night was something fierce.

"How is he keeping them all under control?" Jon wondered. The group of five direwolves were slowly disappearing into the crowd of wildlings, though they were not completely out of sight. There were other direwolves around as well, Jon could see at least six others to his right, moving in a line alongside the column itself.

"He's a warg." Ygritte said as if that was all the answer he needed. "Same way that Orell did. White eyes and all that."

White eyes, mayhaps that is how he's doing it, though the man has only had the one. He hadn't spent much time with the White Wolf, other than that brief meeting in Mance Rayder's tent, and even then, that was nothing. The man looked normal enough, though his face was scarred up and he had only his right eye. Other than that, he looked like every other wildling. Covered in furs, black beard on his face, and he spoke in a rough tongue that he had later learned was Old Tongue.

Jon knew as much about warging as the next person. He'd heard about them from Old Nan's stories, somewhat from Maester Luwin, and from some at Castle Black. Now he'd heard of them from the wildlings and had even met some in person. He'd even killed one, and he noted that Orell died just the same as any other man did, so they weren't so different. Though, tales of wargs controlling great beasts was intimidating, and seeing Varamyr ride on that snow bear of his or the White Wolf on his horse sized direwolf put more than a little fear in him. Fighting a warg wouldn't be that easy, Orell having only an eagle to him, so Jon made a note to himself that Varamyr and the White Wolf were very dangerous should they ever make it to the Wall.

The Night's Watch needed to know of the threat coming to them. Giants that rode mammoths and wargs that commanded hosts of direwolves. Mance Rayder's host was a hundred thousand strong and though many of them were children and old people, they were all still fighters. If they were to get through the Wall the North would have a hard time fighting them all.

They could not get past.

That was the line of thought he kept telling himself as the days went on. Days of marching with wildings. Eating with Tormund and his sons and daughter and Longspear Ryk and Ygritte and the others. Taking pisses and shits in the bushes with them. Laughing at bawdy jokes and learning how to live on the march with them. Sometimes even training with them. As every day passed it became harder and harder to tell himself that he might have to kill all of these people. He learned much and more about Tormund and his Ruddy Hall. He learned that Longspear Ryk wasn't called Longspear for his skill at the spear but for the one in his pants. Ygritte didn't leave his side half the time and when night came, half the time Jon would look over and there she was, and she would always throw her sleeping skins down next to his own.

It was becoming harder and harder to remain true to his oaths. His body was thinking something different to his head, reacting when he didn't want it to, and soon enough he feared that he might break.

"Is it true," Tormund said to Jon one day during the march when the two of them were at the head of the band. "they cut your members off when they take you for the Wall?"

"What?" Jon choked out. "No, they don't."

"I think it must be true. Else why refuse Ygritte? She'd hardly give you any fight at all, seems to me. The girl wants you in her, that's plain enough to see."

Jon fought a grimace at this line of conversation. Ygritte had been not so subtle at her wanting to get into his pants and at his cock. More than once he had awoken to her half draped over his sleeping skins. Half the things he said she could twist into something relating to fucking, some more creative than others. Jon had mostly ignored those attempts, his body mostly complying with his wishes, but he couldn't just ignore the way that his groin tightened at the thought of it. He was a Brother of the Night's Watch, he had sworn vows against fathering children, though a part of his mind pointed out that no where in his vows did, he swear himself to a life of celibacy.

He could not take a wife, hold lands, father no children. He would wear no crowns and win no glory. His mind ran through the vows he had taken and sworn, and not once did he find anything about celibacy. Taking a wife and fucking a wildling were different things. Some would argue otherwise, and Jon was among them, but he did see the hole in the vow, and once he saw it, he couldn't ignore it.

"Do you mislike the girl?" Tormund prodded after Jon had not responded.

"No, but I…" What could he say that would be believable? "I am too young to wed."

"Wed?" Tormund laughed. "Who spoke of wedding? In the south, must a man wed every girl he beds?"

"I… I cannot dishonor her like that."

"You are free man now Jon, and Ygritte is a free woman. What dishonor if you lay together?"

"I might get her with child."

"Aye, I'd hope so. A strong son or a lively laughing girl kissed by fire, and where's the harm in that?"

Words failed him for a moment. "The boy… the child would be a bastard."

"Are bastards weaker than other children? Sicklier, more like to fail?"

"No, but-"

"You're bastard-born yourself Jon. More than half the people here are bastards." Tormund waved a hand around to indicate to the column they were marching with. "And if Ygritte does not want a child, she will go to some woods witch and drink a cup o' moon tea. You do not come into it, once the seed is planted."

"I will not father a bastard." Jon snapped out. He was a man of the Night's Watch. He could not father children. He would not father a bastard like his lord father had before him.

"What fools you kneelers be." Tormund shook his head, shaggy hair and beard swaying with the motion. "Why did you steal the girl if you don't want her?"

"Steal? I never…"

"You did." Tormund said. "You slew the two she was with and carried her off, what do you call it?"

"I took her prisoner."

"You made her yield to you."

"Yes, but… Tormund, I swear, I've never touched her."

"Are you certain they never cut your member off?" Tormund gave a shrug, as if to say he would never understand such madness. "Well, you are a free man now, but if you will not have the girl, best find yourself a she-bear. If a man does not use his member, it grows smaller and smaller, until one day he wants to piss and cannot find it."

Jon didn't have an answer to that. It seemed that all of them were truly savages that the rest of the Seven Kingdoms thought them to be. They had close to no laws here. There was no honor here. Simple decency seemed to evade them as well. Men and women both stole each other endlessly and they all fucked like animals. Marriage seemed to be a rare thing amongst these people and baseborn children were running amuck of the lands north of the Wall.

But he couldn't deny that there was something enticing about it all. As much as he tried, he just couldn't help but see it.

"I resent this you know?"

Val watched as Wolf simply grunted at that. The man was riding on his massive direwolf beside her and quirked his lips slightly at her. Not a smile, but also not a frown, so it was something. He did that more often now, getting a look on his face that wasn't always a frown, and it made him look younger. Though, the second most common look he got now was a mischievous one, a glint in his single grey eye that spelled no good more often than not.

"I don't need a personal guard." Val continued.

That got the raise of an eyebrow. They hadn't even had a discussion on the matter. Val had just woken up one day to find three direwolves sitting around her. She had panicked at first and reached for her dagger before realizing that none of the beasts had moved to attack her. They hadn't done anything more than turn their heads to look at her, three sets of grey eyes locking with her own grey eyes, before resuming their previous watch. Wherever she went they went with her, one at some bringing up the rear, and the other two on her flanks.

No matter what she did she couldn't shake them away.

Dalla had gotten a good laugh at that. Winter, the biggest of the three direwolves, kept at Val's side no matter what. So much so that there wasn't a place he wouldn't follow her. The White Wolf himself had named the beast for his fur was as white as snow and his fangs were frighteningly sharp. But Val knew that he was a big baby on the inside, just giving him a chicken leg or a rub and he'd be wagging his tale and licking at her hand, and she quickly found that she didn't dislike his company.

Snappy was the smallest of the three, though that wasn't by much, and he usually joined Winter in guarding her flanks. Grey furred and full of lithe muscle, he wasn't the fiercest of the three, though he made up for it in sheer noise. Always snapping his maw at anyone who came close, whether it be other spearwives, other warriors, or even Mance himself. He had even tried to bite Mance on one occasion and only stopped when Val smacked him on the snout. After that the beast tolerated the King-beyond-the-Wall's presence but not by much.

Stalker was the last of the three. Dalla had named the black furred beast herself after noticing that he always brought up the rear. He also liked to keep his distance and was eerily quiet at times. So much so that for the first couple of days Val would often forget that he was there. Though, Val had begun to notice that no one would walk behind her, and if anyone did try to do so Stalker would bear his fangs at them, and they'd soon choose to walk somewhere else.

She had only learned four days later that Wolf had set the three of them on her. The damn warg didn't even ask her and simply chose three of his direwolves to guard her. He also wouldn't order them away and so here Val found herself with three new guards in the form of direwolves. It was both insulting and endearing. She was a spearwife and a free woman, she didn't need anyone's protection, she'd been fighting off people ever since she had come into womanhood.

Yet, Winter, Snappy, and Stalker were here to stay, and she was starting to get attached to them.

"For the battles to come." Wolf said and gestured towards the Wall.

"You have a point there, but I still dislike it." Val said back, though she didn't put any heat into her words, she had gotten over her anger already and was now just poking at him. "Dalla needs them more than I do."

"But I'm not fucking Dalla." Was all that Wolf said in reply.

"You're not fucking me either." Val flashed a smirk at him as she pushed her horse closer. "I stole you."

The White Wolf sniffed at that, but Val could see the small grin on his lips. That might not have been entirely true. She hadn't forced him to go to that cave and he hadn't forced her. She didn't strip him of his furs, nor did he have to fight to get at her. She had pounced on him first but half the time he was the one on top. After that it was a back and forth. Sometimes she was on top and other times it was her face being pressed into the furs. Whether they did it in her tent or under the stars, it was always a back and forth, and Val found that she liked it that way.

After that night in the cave, the White Wolf allowed her to ride alongside him, as well as entrusted with her with the knowledge of his true name. Cregan was a northern name, though it had long since fallen out of use with the Free Folk after Cregan Stark had taken it. She was only the second person to know of it, the first being the mysterious Lord Rivers, and everyone else simply knew him as the White Wolf or simply Wolf. It was a sign of trust and Val appreciated it as such.

He had also allowed her to join him on his own foraging parties. He trained with her, and Val had gotten to see just how skilled at the sword he was. That blade of dark steel with the ripples on the blade was unlike anything she had ever seen. Thin and impossibly sharp, it sang as it cut through air and no doubt did it do the same when it cut flesh. Wooden spears were no match for it and swords of steel and iron and bronze fared no better. Valyrian steel he called it, rare to the world, and growing rarer.

Along with the dragonglass dagger he had given her, it was one of the only things that could slay an Other, or that was what he claimed. Val had taken the dagger and the words of advice to heart. Wolf never lied, not to anyone, so if this dagger of black glass could kill their most feared enemy, then it wouldn't be leaving her sight. It remained on her belt right next to her bone knife and she often touched the hilt just to make sure it was there.

The man still didn't speak much, though the further on they traveled on the march towards the Wall, the more his throat healed. Dalla's teas and actual food that was cooked helped a great deal. Val had to wonder how the man had survived so long out in the wilderness of the True North doing whatever he had been. Ragnar had been his only company then and she had seen the many scars on Wolf's body. Cuts and scrapes, but also wounds from swords and daggers, his body was littered with them. Marks from many battles and she didn't doubt that there would be more to come. Attacking Castle Black wouldn't be no small task and Val knew that many lives would be lost in the taking of it.

But they needed to get behind that Wall, and if it meant burning a couple thousand bodies to do it, then so be it.

Soon enough the column could see the Fist of the First Men in the distance. Val had spent half the march with Wolf and the other half with her sister. Dalla's babe was growing larger every day and soon the birth would be on them. It wasn't a fortuitous time for having children, but her sister had refused to take the moon tea. She always wanted a babe of her own Mance had been happy to oblige. Val herself couldn't image doing that to herself. She always took moon tea after a good fucking with Wolf, the man not wanting children either, so they were in agreement.

The direwolves had spotted the trouble first, there were more than a hundred of them gathered now, and half of that number was at the front of the column ahead of Harma Dogshead's van. Their howls went up in the air so loud that the column briefly stopped. Over fifty direwolves howling at the same time was a sound that none of them had heard before and they all looked towards the White Wolf upon his horse sized direwolf when they heard it. Val had noted that his hand had twitched for a moment and then he was moving again. Ragnar let out a loud bark as he started to gain speed and the rest of the column started moving as well.

Val pushed her garron into a trot and her three direwolves matched her pace. Winter was on her left and Snappy on her right. She looked over her shoulder to see Stalker bringing up the rear, his black fur standing out against the white snow, those grey eyes meeting her own for a second. There was a smell in the air that was off and the closer she got to the hill the stronger it got. It became even more evident as she reached the base of it, the wood and stone wall that the crows had set up was in ruins. Frozen carcasses of horse were strewn about and as well as dogs and even a couple ravens.

But no men.

Snappy snapped his maw at it all and Winter let out a bark. The snow was colored pink, and Val grimaced at it all, these animals had died recently then. As she made her way up the hill with her three direwolves she saw more of the carnage. The number of horses that had died was too many. Their bodies were cut down and entrails were ripped out. They were all half buried in the snow, yet these kills were so fresh that the ground was still pink with their blood. It became ever more glaring that there were no bodies of men to be found. Not a single corpse.

Not a single crow.

At the top of the Fist was a couple tents that the Night's Watch had put up that were still standing. The cloth was torn near to shreds, and they were more useful for rope than anything else. It was there that she found Mance alongside Styr and Rattleshirt. The Magnar of Thenn had a hand on the dragonglass dagger at his belt and one look to the side informed her as to why. The White Wolf and Ragnar were also nearby inspecting the sight and all the carnage. Val and everyone else knew that Wolf and the Thenns hated each other. A Thenn took one of Wolf's eyes, and that Thenn had lost his head in return, so there was no love between the two. Their respect for Mance was probably the only thing keeping the two men from killing one another.

"Get Jon Snow up here, my Lord of Bones." Mance said after a moment. Rattleshirt grunted as went of to retrieve the little crow, his armor of bones rattling all the way.

Nobody said anything else as they waited. The rest of the column had started to reach the Fist of the First Men and the foraging began. Anything of value was taken, horses and their saddlebags were searched, any weapons or food they could find were to be taken and used. The direwolves of the great pack that Wolf had been assembling had fanned out in all directions to search. The man himself simply standing still with a hand on that sword of black steel with Ragnar at his back just in case Styr became a fool and attacked.

Val couldn't help but wonder as she looked around. Attacking the Fist was a hard task to accomplish. This place was old but had been heavily fortified by the looks of those wooden stakes and destroyed walls. By the number of dead horses and dogs they had come across there was certainly a lot of men here as well and whatever had attacked them had clearly won. There wasn't a question as to who had done this. It could have only been one enemy.

"The white walkers." Wolf said and turned towards them. Ragnar turned with him, and those red eyes looked at them all unblinkingly. "We must pick up pace."

No one disagreed with him. No one argued either. This enemy had left no corpses of men to be found and there was still blood on the snow. It could only have been the white walkers to have done this and that put a fear in all of them. Mance grimaced as that while Styr frowned. Val couldn't help the fear she felt in the pit of her stomach. Soon enough they were joined by Harma Dogshead and Varamyr Sixskins and they too had similar expressions about their faces.

"We will get there." Mance said. "We will get through the Wall."

They all nod at that. This was the largest host that the north had ever seen. One hundred thousand men and women of the Free Folk and all of them ready to get through the Wall. The only thing standing in their way was the Night's Watch and soon enough they'd be dead.

Soon enough the rattling of bones was heard again, and they all turned to see Rattleshirt come up the hill again with the little crow and the girl kissed by fire with him. Jon Snow looked grim as he took it all in and Ygritte looked something similar. Val also noticed that the boy's face was scratched up around his eye and the blood was still dripping.

"What happened to your face?" Mance asked.

"Orell tried to take his eye out." Ygritte answered for the little crow, and that was a mistake if Val ever saw one.

"It was him I asked." Mance snapped. "Has he lost his tongue? Perhaps he should, to spare us further lies."

"The boy might see more clear with one eye, instead of two." Styr drew his dragonglass dagger.

"Would you like to keep your eye?" Mance asked the little crow. ""If so, tell me how many they were. And try and speak the truth this time, Bastard of Winterfell."

"My lord… what…" Was all that Jon Snow could stammer out. Val stood off to the side with Harma and watched. Varamyr was whispering something to the White Wolf and the man himself was listening with a rather blank expression. No one truly liked Varamyr, but he was a powerful warg, so they tolerated him.

"I am not your lord," Mance said. "And the what is plain enough. Your brothers died. The question is, how many?"

Jon Snow paused for a moment more. His jaw was clenched and the blood around his scratched-up eye was dripping down his face. Snappy snapped his jaw from where he sat to Val's left. Winter was eyeing up Jon Snow's own direwolf Ghost, the two beasts with white fur of nearly the same size. But it was when Ragnar let out a breath of air through his snout did the little crow speak.

"There were three hundred of us."

"Us?" Mance spoke sharply.

"Them." Jon Snow quickly corrected himself. "Three hundred of them. Two hundred from Castle Black, and one hundred from the Shadow Tower."

"There's a truer song than the one you sang in my tent." Mance looked to Harma Dogshead and the White Wolf. "How many horses have we found?"

"More'n a hundred," Harma said. "less than two."

"My direwolves count at least seventy more to the east and south." Wolf said with one hand resting on the pommel of his sword, his finger running over the red rubies.

"You should never have lied to me, Jon Snow." Mance said.

"I… I know that." The boy even sounded ashamed at that.

"Who had the command. Tell me true. Was it Rykker? Smallwood? Not Wythers, he's too feeble. Whose tent was this?"

"You… you didn't find his body?"

"The next time you answer me with a question, I will give you to my Lord of Bones," Mance Rayder promised stepped closer. "Who led here?"

Val watched as the little crow's hand moved slowly. There was a tension in the air, and everyone had their eyes on Jon Snow. Wolf crossed his arms over his chest and was not so much looking at the little crow as he was looking at the direwolf named Ghost. Ygritte was looking more and more nervous at the entire situation. Winter the direwolf had come to stand in front of Val now and Stalker made his way up so that they could all hear his steps, something that he did rarely. Styr's hand hadn't moved from his dagger and now he looked ready for a fight. One that was surely to come by the way that Jon Snow's hand was moving.

"Reach up for that bastard sword and I'll have your bastard head off before it clears the scabbard," Mance said. "I am fast losing patience with you, crow."

"Say it," Ygritte pushed. "He's dead anyway, whoever he was."

Jon Snow looked pained to say it but say it he did. "The old bear."

"That old man?" Harma's tone said she did not believe it. "He came himself? Then who commands at Castle Black?"

"Bowen Marsh." The little crow spoke quicker this time.

"If so, our war is won." Mance said with a laugh. "Bowen knows a deal more about counting swords than he's ever known about using them."

"The Old Bear had the command." Jon said. "This place was high and strong, and he made it stronger. He dug pits and planted stakes, laid up food and water. He was ready for…"

"Me?" Mance asked and then gestured around them. "Aye, he was. Had I been fool enough to storm this hill, I might have lost five men for every crow I slew and still counted myself lucky. But when the dead walk, walls and stakes and swords mean nothing. You cannot fight the dead, Jon Snow. No man knows that half so well as me." Then he turned towards the White Wolf. "Send your direwolves out to sniff for wights. I won't have them taking us unawares,"

To the Lord of Bones. "double all the patrols, and make certain every man has torch and flint.

Then to Styr. "you ride at first light. Gather Jarl and his along with your own men."

"Mance." Rattleshirt said. "I want me some crow bones."

But Ygritte stepped in front of the little crow. "You can't kill a man for lying to protect them as was his brothers."

"They are still his brothers," Styr declared.

"They're not," Ygritte insisted right back. "He never killed me, like they told him. And he slew the Halfhand, we all saw."

"I wear the cloak you gave me, Your Grace." Jon Snow said.

"A sheepskin cloak!" Ygritte said. "And there's many a night we dance beneath it, too!"

Val looked at the two of them and noticed the way that Jon Snow's face tensed at that. A lie then, those two haven't fucked yet, but when she moved to speak, she felt Winter bump his head against her leg. She looked down at the direwolf and those grey eyes looked up at her in way that seemed all too knowing. Direwolves were smart, but not that smart, and her head turned towards the White Wolf. The man simply gave a small shake of the head, too small to have noticed he one wasn't looking at him at the moment he did it.

"So, Jon Snow, you and her?" Mance asked.

"Yes." Was the reply.

"Good. You'll go with Styr and Jarl on the morrow, then. Both of you. Far be it from me to separate two hearts that beat as one."

"Go where?"

"Over the Wall. It's past time you proved your faith with something more than words, Jon Snow."

But the Magnar of Thenn protested. "What do I want with a crow?"

"He knows the Watch and Castle Black." Mance said. "You'll find a use for him, or you're a fool."

Styr scowled. "His heart may still be black."

"Then cut it out." Mance turned to Rattleshirt. "My Lord of Bones, keep the column moving at all costs. If we reach the Wall before Mormont, we've won. Oh, and Styr, tell your son I need to speak with him. He's going to-"

Ragnar let out a bark that startled them all. It was loud and they all turned to look at the horse sized direwolf. No one said anything and then soon enough Wolf gave them all a questioning look. Mance seemed to understand whatever that was and simply nodded before walking off. Harma and Varamyr followed him whilst Styr and Rattleshirt stayed with Jon Snow and Ygritte. Val moved to follow Wolf as he and Ragnar walked away as well, one hand clutching the reins of her garron and leading it along.

It was only after they had made some distance from the top of the Fist of the First Men did Val speak.

"What was that about?" Val asked. "Snow was clearly lying, and Ragnar doesn't just bark for no reason."

Ragnar sniffed at the mention of his name and Snappy snapped his maw in return.

"Jon Snow has his uses, and Mance was about to reveal information that some did not need to hear." Wolf said and looked at her in the eye.

"That with Styr's son? What does Sigorn have to do with anything?"

The White Wolf frowned at the mention of Thenns. Val knew he disliked them, hated them really, after one had taken his left eye.

"Castle Black is not the only castle we're attacking." Wolf said after a moment. "We are getting through the Wall, Val, and if the attack on Castle Black fails. Then we all better hope that Sigorn can take the Shadow Tower."

Val's eyes widened at that. The Shadow Tower. The westernmost castle along the Wall. The one that Qhorin Halfhand came from, but now the man was dead, and with him their most capable ranger. If Jon Snow's words were to be believed, a hundred more of their rangers had come and died on the First of the Fist Men, so there would be hardly anyone left to defend the place.

And who better to storm a castle then Thenns? For all that the White Wolf hated them, even he admitted that they were great warriors, and Val had met Sigorn. He was young and strong, a ferocious fighter, and someone who would be able to take the Shadow Tower.

Winter bumped his head against her leg again and Wolf offered her a small smile. He mounted up on his horse sized direwolf and Val got on her garron. Night was approaching and it looked as though they would be making camp at the Fist of the First Men. They made their way back to Mance's tent in silence. Wolf's hand twitching every so often along the way. It was his tell, Val realized, the way to know when he was warging. It was a small twitch, barely noticeable, but it was still there.

There were dark things in the forests, and they were far closer than she would have liked. Sleep didn't come easy that night, not even with Wolf by her side. Her eyes remained open long after Wolf had already fallen asleep, the sounds of his breathing evening out along with those of the direwolves all around her. Eventually her body succumbed to sleep in the end, and as her eyes closed, she caught sight of a crow flying in the air.

She didn't notice the way it had three eyes.