When dawn came Ramsay was too tired to continue on. Sore from crawling through the tunnel, his muscles still aching, he looked around for a place to rest and happened upon a fitting spot soon after, a nicely concealed one situated under a waterfall that cascaded down into a small forest lake. Using his sack as a pillow, he was soon off to sleep.
His father came to him in his dreams. Ramsay found himself in a clearing amidst a scenery that could only exist further north than he had ever set foot. The ground was covered in powdered snow over a thick layer of ice with pine trees surrounding him on all sides. Roose was standing a few feet away, his eyes cloudy and skin pale as the driven snow. Ramsay could feel the iciness that eradiated from his - no - its very being, like a wisp of a winter breeze through a window. Only this breeze was carrying the horrid stench of his father's rotting flesh. My bastard,the wind whispered in a disembodied voice, you failed me, our bloodline is gone. The ghost stood motionless, a bundle was in its arms and there was something squirming inside it. "Forgive me father...I chose to live" Ramsay confessed ruefully, and felt a growing sense of unease creep over him at the too vivid sight of his deceased Sire.
The ghost pulled the cloth aside, its movements slow and stiff as if every joint and bone in the body had been replaced by icicles. A racket of splintering and shattering noises came from beneath the robes, resonating in Ramsay's ears making him shudder. As the bundle came open it revealed a pale, hideous creature inside, his baby brother whom he had thrown to the hounds a few months past.
Half the boy's face was missing, replaced by a gaping wound where bone and teeth were visible in the places the tissue had been peeled off. A remaining grey eye stared out at Ramsay from the disfigured face. Instead of a cheek the boy had an open hole from where a small black tongue were sticking out licking at the air, making slurping noises like water escaping down a drain. Darkness will come soon...to you as it did to me, and our memory will fade away. "What should I do, Father?" Ramsay's voice was shaking, "tell me what to do!". He felt like a small child again, lost and scared. Accept your fate. This time the whispering voice seemed fading. Goodbye, Ramsay.
With those words the ghost kissed the forehead of the creature in its arms. It was a grotesque show of affection, so unlike Roose who would have never granted a child such care while he was still alive. The disfigured thing twisted and cried out, and the ghost wrapped it back up in the bundle almost as if it was trying to shelter it from the cold like a father would a living child. With his squirming dead brother clutched against its chest, the ghost who had once been Roose Bolton turned from Ramsay and walked away. A blizzard appeared between the pines covering them in whirling snow and a moment later they were gone.
Ramsay woke from the dream, heart pounding in his chest. The sky was covered in grey. A small speck of light shining through the clouds directly above him was evidence that it was midday. Although he did not feel fully rested yet, the thought of meeting his father and brother again in his dreams was enough to get him moving instead of going back to sleep. Besides he had to cover some ground soon. By now, his banner men would have figured out he was missing and the majority of them (if they were smart) would take the deal the Starks had offered. Every northerner knew the Starks were an honourable bunch, that they always kept their word so the men probably would not fear any repercussions if they surrendered to them. Winterfell would be flying the direwolf banner before long, and a manhunt for Ramsay would commence soon thereafter, but he planned to be far gone by then. Ramsay bit into a piece of dried fruit, picked up his sack and bow and began trekking in a northern direction.
He was no stranger to the outdoors even though he had spent the majority of his life within the shielding walls of the Dreadfort. At a young age he started hunting with his father's men, having already killed his fair share of animals before then: kittens, rats, birds, insects...whatever wandered within his reach when he was bored met a terrible end. Ramsay learned to drag out the animals suffering, listening to the squeaks and screams, watching with fascination its death struggle. Of course, stalking prey in the woods had turned out to be much more satisfying than killing a defenceless animal cowering in a corner, though it had been good practice before taking on larger game.
The delight of seeing a frightened animal foaming at the mouth, driven forward by the sound of barking hounds. He would put an arrow in its stomach or somewhere else non-mortal just to see it tumble to the ground and wallow in those last delicious moments when the animal would thrash and scream out in agony and fear. Then he would finish it off with a knife or, depending on his mood, let it bleed out on its own. Ramsay was quite skilled in skinning animals, but before long it would be people who would feel his talent with the blade. Roose had promised him so. He just had to work his way up from the four-legged to the two-legged kind of prey.
If a hunt was particularly exiting he would get hard, his member straining against his breeches. In later years Myranda would join him on the hunts. After a kill their eyes would lock in mutual desperation to fuck away their desires. She was as exited as himself by the killing, sometimes even more so, and the two hunters would find release in each other on the ground next to the dead or dying prey with a smell of blood filling the air around them. He missed those hunts with Myranda and the girls, but those kinds of pleasures were unfortunately all over and done with for now. The kennel-master's daughter was gone, and the girls would surely be put down when the Starks had retaken Winterfell. If he made it back to the Dreadfort he could get another Myranda and other dogs, but for the moment nature seemed to have lost its appeal to him.
It was cold and uncomfortable and no one was there to service him. Ramsay didn´t feel like he was the one doing the stalking anymore, using the cover of the woods to his advantage. The trees and bushes seemed to somehow have turned on him, each of them potentially hiding an enemy fixing to either kill him or take him prisoner. Ramsay even fell on his face twice. Once over a tree stump when he wasn´t paying attention and another time he tripped over his own damned feet, leaving him fuming on the ground for several minutes afterwards.
He walked for hours, only stopping to relieve himself or eating some of the provisions. Dusk crept over the forest and Ramsay decided that the time to get some rest had come. Despite his worn out state he had covered a lot of ground and was overall satisfied with the day's achievement. His feet had suffered, a few minor blisters now covered the heels and balls of his feet. Please...be gone Father. The chilling sight of Roose's ghost and the disfigured creature that were his dead brother was not one he needed to experience ever again. Accept you fate. The words kept haunting him but he managed to push it aside. Survival was the goal now and past regrets were not helping him in any way to archive that. This was no endgame but a chance at rising to power and former glory once again. Ramsay sat down at the foot of an old oak-tree and bundled himself up in his cloak. Soon sleep took him into its arms. This time it was merciful and did not bring any dreams with it.