I had forgotten every sense of my body as I entwined my fingers in her silk hair. My rash instincts had done the unthinkable; I knew I couldn't control the bloody impulse. And it was then that I had destroyed her pure lips. They felt like the clouds above us, depthless, as I felt the yearnings of a young man.

What was I thinking?

My mind felt finally at peace. And for that small moment between her minuscule chest and mine, I felt, without flaws, without the disastrous face of mine. The Little Bird had made me feel unbounded.

Her smell, springs of light flowers mixed with the pain of fear. I could smell everything. It engulfed me with a passion I had never felt before.

I was not like some inexperienced youngling; I had met countless whores in my lifetime. But this kiss…

But the dream had faded quickly as I realized the stupid mistake I had done.

What the bloody fuck was I thinking?

My conscience screamed at me to let her go, to let her out of this torture. I released her body as her perfect face met mine with eyes full of horror… no…. was it longing?

I shook my head of all ridiculous thoughts. I wanted to apologize, to take back my absurd actions.

Footsteps sounded behind the trees as I unsheathed my sword.

…..

The kiss had left me dumbfounded. I had not awakened from the Sandors grasp in time to notice the old man walking toward us among the woods. As he approached us, I noticed more clearly his shriveled, yet amiable face, walking with a stiff ancient cane. He dressed as a Northerner, with a heavy shall and wooly clothes. His back was slightly curved, as his years seemed to weaken his every breath. His countenance seemed slightly familiarly, yet no faces came to mind.

He observed us suddenly as he just noticed the two strangers in front of him. I knew he stared at Sandor the longest; there was no denying his immense stature.

"Oh, good 'noon. I haven't seen travelers in months, I haven't. This is strange sight", he declared. I thought quickly for a lie to tell the old man; after weeks of running and avoiding death, this would not be our downfall.

"Hello, sir. My uncle and I have been traveling again to Winterfell…to see it again, since we had been working for a herdsman on the grounds many years ago", I proclaimed, as calmly as I could. I hoped to the gods he had not seen us only a few seconds ago, that the man did not recognize me as a Stark. I needed to be just another girl in the North.

"Ah yes, like many of us, we mourn what was a strong and honorable land. Years I worked for the Stark family, I cherished them. I was proud to serve 'em, I was. Those damn Greyjoys, may they rot in hell, ahem, excuse me my language, child. They ransacked the land, left it deserted for other vile men to steal….".

His words fell in a soft whisper as his eyes closed at the memories. I immediately felt no animosity from this man, just proper sympathy. It could have been a foolish thought, but I knew I could trust him. The news of the Greyjoys attacks were small rumors I was lucky to hear in Kings Landing, yet I never knew if they were true. As I remembered my still and abandoned castle, the fog-filled pieces filled together to form a clear explanation. My mind understood, but my heart ignored.

I felt once again like the spoiled, foolish child I was more than five years ago. I wanted happiness. I wanted everything to be like the stories. I wanted safety. I wanted a brave prince-

I could feel Sandor eyes on my neck. Against my wishes, my cheeks turned the bright color of the leaves of the trees around us.

Surely….that kiss…

I doubted the happening. No, it was not so. Yet…

I could feel my lips. They were warm, despite the frigid environment. They beckoned the touch again.

The old man brought me back from the sky.

"So child, as you see before you, this is the life left of the Starks here. The gods only know where the Heirs are. Weirlily prays for their safe return."

The foreign name alerted my curiosity.

"Sir, what is Weirlily…? I have never heard of this city. Is it near…?", I asked meekly. I did not want to seem too inquiring.

"Oh yes, well, after Winterfell's abandonment, the many that stayed loyal to the Starks had faith in their leader and their eventual return; they stayed near the grounds. Winters passed, yes, but the few who remain live in the Weirlily, the refuge land. I have lived there since it was established, I have. We stay rooted until the day the wolf once again flies in the sky."

The man's face smiled as I felt drawn to this place. The few people that called that place home were not enemies. They remained faithful to my father after so many years of his death.

"How far is it, old man?", Sandors hoarse voice awakened me from my thoughts. I felt myself not being able to meet his gaze. He stood at my side, straight like an arrow.

As if the kiss had never happened.

"Ah just a small walk from here. I am heading toward my home there; I will guide you, yes? It is a welcoming refuge for all. Oh how rude of me, I am called Fredric."

At that moment, I thought about my fate. My home was empty, empty of life, of love, and of happiness. I could not think correctly. It seemed Weirlily was the only we could stay. I had to trust this man, I repeated to myself. Until I could decide what I would do, I had to trust him. I could see he was expecting me to introduce myself and my "uncle". Yet my mouth stayed shut. It was Sandor who spoke.

"I am Rowan, and my niece is named Isabel. We have traveled far; your hospitality will be appreciated".

My once silent mouth fell as the words came calmly and naturally from his lips. It seemed Fredric believed Sandors words, nodded his approval, and started his way toward the small path out of the Weirwood. I could not say a word; my lips refused to move. It was as if the Kiss had sealed them away.

As we left the once safe grounds of Winterfell, the small plains of the North appeared. Among them, a quaint wooden town gleamed among the green pasture. As Sandor held Nero steady among the rocky path, Fredric talked on about his own beginnings and late wife he missed dearly. I tried to pay attention, but my mind was swimming.

The town of Weirlily was more likely to be called a few wood houses and a stable, yet it had its own charm. There were more animals than people, and some woman cooking over small fires. A few stands sold bread and water, the necessary for any human to survive. Nero was left on a small post outside what seemed to be Fredric's house. All was quiet.

Fredrick lived in a small shack made out of the same material as the other larger houses. It harbored two rooms, the kitchen/his own bedroom, and an even smaller spare bedroom. It smelled of warm hay. He led us to the back room, leaving Sandor and I alone once again.

I could feel the awkward fidgeting of our bodies. I had not looked at him since the Weirwood.

We were alone in the small, cramped room, yet all I could do was breath.

The cold seeped through the cracks of the walls. I had not noticed the freezing air, nor had realized the shivering of my lips.

"Little Bird, open that little beak of yours and sing something, won't you?", as he took off his rough outer shirt. He placed it on my shoulders as the immediate warmth calmed my shaking. He stood in front of me, as I met his steel eyes.

"I…what happened in…",I stammered to find the words. I looked again into the chasm of his dark eyes. I felt it again; the irrevocable feeling, my lips shaking again, yet not from the cold.

His great, warm hands grasped mine, encircling them into one. Sandor gazed at me with the same desire I had seen before.

Rapidly, his eyes fell to the ground, swearing to the gods.

"I-….I'm sorry, Little Bird."

He walked from the room, shutting the door behind him.

My hands yearned for the warmth, as my heart felt a new and different pain.