Ryssa could still hardly believe she was allowed to come to the last hunt with the men. She was so prepared for Lord Stark's refusal that she was shocked when he decided to let her come. It was common knowledge that women didn't accompany men on feats such as these, except in places like, maybe, Dorne and the Ashlands. To her knowledge, those were the only places in the Seven Kingdoms that treated their women like equal to men. Ryssa was positively over the moon when Lord Stark said 'yes'. She hadn't gone on a hunt since she had arrived here and she missed the feeling dearly. When she was home she often went on hunts with her father and later, when Niantine had grown a little, with her sister. Her horse, Wynter, had finally warmed up to her during one of those hunts when they were caught in a heavy blizzard and were separated from the others.

Wynter had injured himself when he slipped and fell on a stray branch which cut his hind leg pretty badly. When they had managed to find shelter in a small abandoned cave, Ryssa tore all the spare cloth she could from her hunting dress and made some makeshift bandages for the injured animal that were supposed to last until they were reunited with their group. At first, the stallion was completely feral, still being frightened from his fall, and didn't allow her to approach him at all but as time passed and he calmed down a little she was finally able to get close to him. Ever since that day, the huge black stallion was very protective of his rider and would gladly get himself killed if it meant the safety of the little human that helped him during that storm.

The hunting party left at dawn so Ryssa had more than enough time to pack for it. She took a small red bedroll from her trunk she had packed just in case she ever needed it. Mother always told her to be prepared for anything, those words having more sense since her mother was one of the Free Folk. In her saddle bags, Ryssa packed a change of clothes and spare boots. She also brought her usual hunting gear like her skinning tools and some coal to purify the water they found, some spare waterskins, bandages and some healing herbs she had since she left Forgehammer. All the while she was packing she sang under her breath as to not wake anyone. She was also as quiet as possible when packing for the same reason.

Buried almost at the bottom of her trunk were her hunting clothes: a formfitting high necked shirt of finest winter silks, a leather brown corset vest to which she would strap any spare knives she might need to use, a forest green woollen coat that reached just above her knees with a neckline rimmed in silver grey wolf fur and sleeves that ended at her elbows, thick brown leather breeches, brown leather hunting boots that went up to her knees and were rimmed with the same fur as her coat, black bracers that covered her forearms and were padded with the silver grey fur to keep her warm and her black leather fingerless gloves. The only difference in her outfit form the times she went hunting at home would be that she would forego her thick brown furry hunting cloak and wear a much lighter brown winter wool cloak with only the hood padded and rimmed with silver grey fur so she wouldn't get too warm during the hunt.

Putting on her clothes, Ryssa quickly made two six-strand braids that went on the sides of her head from her temples to the back of her skull where they met and formed one twelve-strand braid and were tied with a small weirwood bead her father had carved for her, giving the image of a braided diadem on her head and rimmed her eyes with kohl before she fastened her cloak, took her things and went to the stables where Wynter patiently waited for her.

"Hey, boy," she greeted the massive black animal as she entered the stables. She was the first to come down so she decided to first groom her horse a bit before they had to leave. She opened the pen Wynter was kept in to let him out. The horse immediately stepped out and obediently stood at the side, no fear of him running off, and nuzzled into her scarlet hair. "You know, for such a big scary beast you're just a big softie." Ryssa patted the horse's neck and closed the pen doors before taking a brush and brushing his black pelt until it shined, Wynter obediently lowering his head so she could reach the higher parts of his neck and his head. After that, she combed out his luscious black mane and tail, not forgetting the thick black feathering on his legs. She picked pebbles from his hooves, she forgot to do it the prior day due to her dragging the Twins to dress up so she hadn't groomed Wynter like she usually does after their rides.

Her horse was so big that his shoulders stood at least three to four inches above the top of her head. She loved riding Wynter because it made her feel so much taller that she really was and was the only opportunity she had to literally look down on someone, not counting children and dwarves.

None of her sisters were tall to begin with, they had gotten that from their mother, a petite woman who was as tough as nails but had a heart of gold, while all her brothers had taken after their father and were quite tall for their age. The finest examples of that were Therenger and Baessrad. With his 6'5'' frame, Therenger towered most people while young Baessrad, who was the same age as little Bran, was even a few inches taller than Arya, who was two years older than him. There was even a chance that the scarlet haired boy could outgrow Therenger but it was fairly obvious that he would never have the muscly frame their dark haired brother had. Baessrad had always been as thin as a stick, the only visible fat in his face, while Therenger was always as beefy as he is right now.

After she was finished grooming her horse, Ryssa started saddling the huge animal just as Robb entered the stables and went to his own horse.

"Well, you are up early," he said while taking his horse from its pen. Wynter simply glared in the auburn haired man's direction, well, as much as a horse can glare. Seeing this, Ryssa gave her horse a small slap on his nose and pointed a warning finger at him to which Wynter hung his head making him look like a pouting child.

"I've been up for hours. To tell you the truth, that's the time I normally wake up so it's not a big deal." She was making sure her saddle was strapped just right or else she might fall off or Wynter could choke while they rode. You can never be too careful with things like that. "It's a habit, I suppose."

"What about when you get drunk? Are you then able to wake at this ungodly hour?" Robb asked. Even though she couldn't see his face from Wynter's massive frame, she knew he was grinning at her. She could hear it in his voice.

She smirked. "I don't get drunk, young wolf," she said. "Unlike my brothers, I know when to stop. The last thing I wish is to wake up on a random roof half naked," she said before adding under her breath: "again."

"What was that last part?" Robb asked. He was suddenly standing right next to her and right in the reach of Wynter's hind leg.

"What last part?" she asked feigning ignorance.

Robb crossed his arms over his chest while grinning at the shorter girl. "You know well what I mean."

Ryssa raised a black eyebrow at him and kept her face as impassive as she could. "No, I don't." She pointed her finger at Robb. "I only know that I would not stand there if I were you."

"And why is that?" he asked cocking his head. As if on cue, Wynter's leg flew up and, with a light but still forceful blow, hit Robb straight in the stomach making him wheeze out and bend at the waist, his arms clutching at the hit area.

"That's why," Ryssa said with a smirk before giving Wynter an encouraging pat on the shoulder and proceeding to strap her saddle bags and her bedroll to the saddle.

"Remind me to never tease you when you have your horse near again," Robb wheezed as he stood up and returned to his own horse, his own saddled faster than hers since his wasn't as big and he had significantly less things with him than she did. "Why are you carrying so much stuff with you?" he asked when he saw her stuffed bags.

"I carry them just in case, you know." She shrugged her shoulders like it's not a big deal. This was even less than she carried on her hunts up North.

"No, I don't know. But, really, what would you need a bedroll for?" They led their horses to the yard where most of their party was waiting for them.

"I've gotten separated from my companions during hunts and rides so many times that I just carry it with me out of habit. You never know when you're going to need it. I surely don't fancy sleeping on the ground with a cold stone as my pillow."

"Wisely spoken," the voice of Tyrion Lannister told her. Looking up, she saw him sitting on his horse in an odd looking saddle. It probably helped him stay on his horse so she said nothing about it. After all, she did have some manners.

"See?" she said to Robb. "At least someone appreciates my logic."

Robb raised his eyes to the sky and let out an exasperated sigh. "You know I did not mean it that way, Ryssa." Grey Wind appeared at his feet suddenly and whined slightly while looking at Ryssa with his big puppy eyes. "Forgive me?" Robb asked hopefully while Ryssa had her eyes glued to the lupine at his feet who was asking for his master's forgiveness as well.

Ryssa sighed in defeat and scratched Grey Wind behind his ears. "Fine, I forgive you this time," she said.

Robb gave her a wide grin. "Thank you, Ryssa," he said and hugged her around the shoulders with his free arm.

She quickly moved out of his hug and pointed at him with her finger. "You're just lucky that wolf of yours is so cute, otherwise you'd be in a lot of trouble, young wolf," she jokingly warned him.

"I shall take what I can," he said with a mock bow. "Do you need help with mounting your horse?" he asked when she moved to get up.

Ryssa simply shook her head. "I think I can manage on my own," she said and quickly but elegantly swung onto her horse by grabbing Wynter's long thick mane as leverage. The huge animal didn't move a single inch without his master's approval but, rather, opted for staring at Robb with assessing intelligent brown eyes.

Tyrion gave out a small chuckle from his seat. "You two bicker like an old married couple," he said mirthfully.

"We're hardly married, Lord Lannister. More like just good friends," Ryssa assured the small statured man as Robb mounted his horse and nodded in agreement to her words before going to his father's side. She could see the King and Prince Joffrey already there as well as some of the members of the Kingsguard with the exception of Jaime Lannister, The Kingslayer. "Besides," she continued. "I don't plan on ever marrying."

"And, pray tell, why is that?" Tyrion asked leaning a little closer to her.

"I have no need for a man in my life. I can very well take care of myself. I can hunt, cook, fight... Why would I need a man?" She pulled her hood over her head to cover her scarlet hair. When hunting, the last thing you want is for someone to see you, be they animal or human, and with her easily noticeable hair she had to cover it while travelling and hunting. The same went for her brothers, Rafaem, Ranald and Baessrad.

"Good reason," the little lord told her. "Tell me," he started. "Where did you learn so much about hunting and survival? It is not every day that you meet a lady that does not faint at the sight of little blood, let alone is willing to partake in a hunting party full of men."

Ryssa offered him a dazzling smile. "My father married a woman of the Free Folk, Wildlings as you Southerners like to call them, and she taught us that entire she knew about the wild. I also often accompanied my father on his hunts when I was a child. Women are treated equally as men where I come from so it was very easy to accept in our society," she explained.

Tyrion seemed to think about her words for a minute or two before he spoke again. "Yes, I seem to recall that coming as a large shock to many of the other lords."

"I can only imagine," Ryssa chuckled.

"They were all shocked that such a great warrior and powerful man would stoop so low as to marry a savage from over the Wall."

"They're not savages," Ryssa spat out feeling angry that the man she had started to like would say such a thing about her mother and her people. "You Southerners know nothing about them. You only call them that because they are something unknown to you and people have always been afraid of the unknown."

"I apologize for making it seem that way but I was only stating what other have thought. I never said that was what I thought." She could see the sincerity in his mismatched eyes and it calmed the anger in her a little.

"It still hurts to know that most think of the woman that gave birth to you as a savage," she admitted. "She taught me how to survive in the wild but she also taught me how to sing and dance and play music. My mother isn't a savage, Lord Lannister, but a woman who left her people to be with the man she loves."

The party had finally decided to leave. With a small click of her tongue, Ryssa urged Wynter to go and the horse immediately obeyed her order.

...

Ryssa was flying on Wynter's back, the trees and bushes passing by her in a blur, her black eyes trained on the heard of deer's the party had run into. She was chasing them through the woods, trying to get them to the party. They were separated from the others as Wynter navigated through the foliage with certainty in his massive steps. Ryssa was being held to her mount only be the strength of her thighs, her arms securely wrapped around her bow, ready to shoot the animals at first opportunity. She could feel blood flowing down her cheek from the small cut there she got when she forgot to bend down ad got hit by a passing branch. It stung a little but wasn't the worst she had experienced. A direwolf's bites hurt a hell of a lot more than some minor cuts like these.

A tiny whistle from her lips was enough to urge Wynter to go faster, his stride longer and faster. The massive horse was so used to strains like these that he was hardly gasping for breath like other horses would. His breaths were deep and steady like he was merely walking instead of rushing in a full blown gallop.

Chasing the heard to a clearing in the woods, Ryssa spotted the others coming from the opposite direction. Seeing her chance she took aim and let one of her arrows fly. Like in slow-motion, she saw her arrow fly through the cold northern air before it hit one of the stags right through the eye, killing it instantly, and the animal slumping to the ground as little blood seeped from the area the arrow pierced. Her companions were too slow and the heard had managed to escape with only the stag Ryssa had hit dead.

Pulling on the reins, Ryssa and Wynter came to a stop just before the corpse of the stag. Jumping off her horse, she crouched next to the dead animal, pulled her arrow from its head and wiped it of blood on a small handkerchief she had in one of the pockets in her vest.

...

In the end, they had managed to catch a boar and a whole bunch of hares, apart from the stag Ryssa shot at the beginning of the hunt. Most of the hares were caught by Ryssa while they were returning to Winterfell. She would spot them in the foliage and shoot them before anyone knew what was happening. She was blessed by the gods not to be in need of using one of the bigger knives she had in her vest.

Since she was never such a good marksman like Niantine, who never missed, she would sometimes have to use a knife to quickly finish the animal she caught so that it wouldn't suffer much. Ryssa never liked hunting for sport. Wildlife was scarce in the North so her people only hunted when they were in need of food and/or fur and never in sport. They never sold the fur either. The only things they sold to the other regions of Westeros were their forging products, armours, weapons and jewellery and their horses.

They had the best horses the North could offer. The horses were large stout beasts, strong, fast and able to withstand cold winters. They were hot-blooded beasts with short tempers but extremely fond and protective of their riders. Wynter was one of the finest examples of such breeding. Wynter's mother was an elegant albino mare with a soft temper but was as fast as the wind while his father was a large bay stallion of unmatchable strength called 'Aeronym'. Wynter was his last offspring before he was killed when a pack of wild wolves attacked the heard one night. The direwolves from their Godswood killed the pack but they were too late to save Aeronym and so they lost one of their best breeding horses.

It was when they had neared the gates of Winterfell that they heard a hauntingly familiar scream pierce the morning air.