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The moon had risen high over the Sheepshead Hills which made spotting his prey easier. Not that the men who camped atop the hill were trying to hide, else they would have doused their bright burning fire and stopped their coarse laughter. Stupid men. Stupid tasty men.
Silent as a ghost, he slunk down the crest of a nearby hill and into a small thicket of bushes. So careful was he that the rustle of leaves amonst the brambles seemed more as if it were just a stir of wind. And still the men did not notice.
"All bullshit it is!" cried one of them, some swarthy looking fucker with a boil on his cheek, "Why do we 'ave to freeze our balls off out in this fuckin' cold while Corwyn gets to stay nice and warm in the Dreadfort?"
"It's 'cause he's a knight and yerr lucky yerr mum didn't throw ya out with the afterbirth," laughed another, a sandy haired bloke.
"Fuck you Vorrd, you sheep-fucker! Yerr mum probably screamed when she saw yerr face!" the Boil shot back, his face in an even more horrid sneer.
Vorrd laughed, a crackly sound, "Aye, but I bet she didn't scream as much as yerr mother when I fucked 'er!"
Boil gave a roar (that sounded far to high pitched to be called that) and punched the one called Vorrd in the face. The hunter smiled, fighting quarry was easier to kill. The two began the scuffle only to be stopped when two large hands pulled them apart.
"Oye, you shut yerr yap!" grunted the biggest of the three, "We're here to keep an eye on the surround, not squabble like wee bitches over a bone! Now shut up, or I'll shove me knife so far up yerr asses you'll be choking on the blade!"
The two were quickly put in their place and silently watched the crackling fire. Fuck. He usually found it easier to move when there was talking, but he could adapt. If he could not sneak up on them, perhaps he could at least distract them.
Hiding his hatchet and axe in his furs, he schooled his face to look cold and hungry. Once he finished, he left the bushes and headed up the small hillock towards the trio.
"E-Excuse me, sers..." he called out brokenly, placing a well practiced stutter in.
All three men stood up quickly and the smaller two drew their swords. However, when they saw him, their faces turned from fear to annoyance.
Boil was the first to speak, "Oye, we ain't got nufin furr you 'ear so fuck off," while the one called Vorrd narrowed his eyes, "'o are you?"
He cleared his voice to add effect, "I-I'm just a sh-shepherd and was w-wondering if you have any f-food you could spare."
The big one growled, "No, nothing for you. So piss off, or you'll feel my blade," he tapped his large bastard sword menacingly.
Some might of found this scary, he only found it amusing. He saw movement down the other side of the hill. Soon. Soon.
"P-Please... I-I'm starving. A-And c-cold..." he slowly moved his hands into his furs, his left gripping the hatchet tightly.
"Did you hear 'im you little shit? Fuck o-" Boils retort ended as the stone hatchet was soon buried in his skull. The big one and the one called Vorrd got to their feet and drew their weapons. In moments, the hunter's double headed stone axe was out and met with the shortsword of the one they called Vorrd.
The big one was about to bear his massive sword down on him when with a growl and a snarl, a black shadow leapt out of nowhere and tumbled atop the giant. The sounds of tearing and screaming issued from the pile.
This distraction was what he needed, and while the one called Vorrd stared in fear at the fate that befell his companions, the hunter took the advantage and offed the man's hands. Screaming, the man called Vorrd toppled to the ground, blood draining from his stubby ends.
Rickon smiled.
The two and ten year old boy's blue eyes moved to where Shaggydog was tearing at the big man's throat, eager to get to the softer meat. His companion loved that stuff the best, so full of blood and rich juices. Rickon however, preferred skin on his, especially if it was crackled.
As the one called Vorrd whimpered and sobbed, Rickon moved over to Boil and hacked off a leg. And soon that leg was slowly turning over the fire, it's hair singed off and the skin now sizzling. The one called Vorrd was now unconscious and would soon be dead. All in all, Rickon felt the hunt had gone well. He and Shaggy would be eating their fill tonight before returning to Winterfell in the morning.
It had been weeks since his last hunt and he was starving for some of that sweetest of meats. Oh sure the lamb and cow they fed him at Winterfell was fine, but something about eating those who you hate just made Rickon shiver with anticipation. No longer able to contain himself any longer, he pulled the leg off the fire and dug into the thigh, relishing the burst of juices in his mouth. Shaggy was almost done devouring the big one and there was still the one called Vorrd. Rickon decided he would be able to salt some and take it home, to hide in his room, in case he had a midnight hunger again. He supposed setting the body of the one called Vorrd aflame would be safest, after all, wouldn't want him coming back would he?
"Come along Shaggy," Rickon roused his mount and hopped atop the black wolf, "Let's go home. Ser Davos is probably going to be furious with me going out alone again. But," he patted the sack of flesh across his back, "It has all been worth it."
With a howl and a bound, the two raced off into the night, as the cold winds blew down from the North.