Mid March, 299 AC
Smoke rose in the distance, a billowing dark cloud against the grey skies. It was too far away for Arya to smell, but Sansa wrinkled her nose, a queasy look on her face.
When they first left the cave, they'd traveled through lush woods, softly carpeted with grasses and flowers and a hundred other plants. Arya counted a dozen flowers she'd never seen before, and taught Gendry the names of the ones she knew. There hadn't been many flowers in the Street of Steel, and Gendry got a stupid look on his face when he thought a flower was especially pretty. One night he'd come back from hunting with three rabbits and an armful of crushed flowers. He'd handed a bunch of them to each of the girls, but the biggest bunch he handed to Arya.
Now rabbits were scarce, and they saw smoke nearly every day as Sansa led their little group toward Riverrun. While Arya trudged on weary feet, Sansa rode on one of the horses. Gendry had insisted in a fit of gallantry, and Sansa didn't argue. Her legs were still shaky, and she walked slowly when they made camp. Arya rode sometimes, but she took turns with Jeyne and Merissa.
Even in a plain wool gown, her dyed brown hair in a simple braid, Sansa looked like a princess. She acted like one too, telling them which way to go, when to stop and make camp, how much of their food they could eat at each meal. It annoyed Arya, but they'd not seen any people, or run out of food, so she bit her tongue.
On the fourth day they had reached a winding river. It took hours to find a place shallow enough that the horses could cross. Faithful and Hammer were cautious beasts, for all that they weren't as clever as Nymeria. Faithful was what Sansa had named the grey courser. The mare was not happy about Arya lying to her, but she'd remained anyway. Gendry had named the brown-black courser, a mare near as stubborn and strong as he was.
After crossing the river they'd made camp near a huge lake. Something about the deep blue waters made Arya's skin itch, and even taking a quick bath didn't help. While Arya and Gendry tried their hand at catching fish, Sansa stared silently across the rippling waters. Once she asked if Arya heard music, and looked sad when Arya said no.
That night Arya had dreamed of Nymeria running with Grey Wind, swift and silent, a small pack behind them. A faint red glow lit the sky. Women and children screamed in the distance, begging for help, for mercy. Nymeria howled, and in her fierce song Arya heard the promise of justice.
Over the next few days the green woods began to thin, and finally they disappeared, replaced by bare fields of grey ash. No birds sang here, save for the cackling of crows. They dotted the bleak landscape, feasting on the bloated corpses of cows and horses. Robb will make the Lannisters pay, Arya thought, her hate simmering with every step. He'll thrash their armies and raid their villages, see how they like it.
The afternoon sun beat down on the weary travelers as Sansa led them west. Arya was ahorse, having traded with Jeyne and Merissa when they stopped for water at a little stream. Suddenly Sansa stiffened, turning her head this way and that. Before Arya could say a word, Sansa kicked Faithful into a gallop, bolting toward a dark blur in the distance.
Jeyne and Merissa cried out, Gendry yelled, and Arya gave chase. Hammer thundered across the field, ash spraying behind her hooves. They had nearly caught Sansa when the dark blur became a hovel and Arya heard a baby screaming.
Sansa slid off her horse and dashed inside, Arya close behind. The hovel was smaller than the cave, its thatched roof half burnt. The floor beneath a thin layer of rushes was muddy- rain must have put out the fire before it spread.
The weak screams came from a roughly carved cradle. The baby was tightly swaddled, its hazel eyes huge in its thin face. Sansa picked up the baby, placing it over her shoulder as she'd once done for Rickon. While Sansa patted the baby's back, Arya looked around.
There was a foul smell upon the air. Dead man's stink, that was what Yoren had called it. A fair haired woman lay in the corner, wrapped in a light blue blanket on a bed of rushes. Her eyes stared at the grey sky, her skin pale and bloodless. At her middle the wool blanket was stained a dark reddish brown. Arya shivered and backed away.
"Shhhh," Sansa murmured. The baby's cries were quieter now, and Sansa began to sing in a sweet soft voice.
Hush-a-bye, hush-a-bye
Sleep now my baby
Lullaby, lullaby
It's time for bed
Sweet dreams may find you
If you lie still
Till morning dew
Sleep you will
Something wet ran down Arya's face. Was the roof dripping? Arya scrubbed at her eyes.
"I don't remember that song," Arya said when the baby had finally fallen asleep.
"I made it up," Sansa whispered. Arya rolled her eyes. Of course she did.
"What-"
"Sssh!" Arya hissed at Gendry as he burst through the door. He was sweaty and panting- had he run after them? Sansa paced around the hovel, gently swaying the baby as she walked.
"Let's see if there's anything left that we can use," Arya whispered.
Behind the hovel they found a small paddock. Inside were two dead goats, a dead mule, and a small flock of crows pecking at them. They cawed as Arya shooed them away with Needle. The animals were still covered in feathers after the crows flapped away- they'd been shot full of arrows.
Beside the paddock was a small half burned shed. There were a few tools, wooden hoes and shovels, a slingshot and a small pile of pebbles. Hunks of salted meat hung from the ceiling, so high that only Gendry could reach them, and Arya found some bags of dried beans. Everything else was scorched from the fire or soggy from the rain.
Once they'd wrapped up the food, they brought it back to the hovel. Some of the crows had landed on the roof, looking down at the girls. Merissa's nose was red and swollen as she rocked the baby in the cradle, and Sansa had her arms around a crying Jeyne. Arya's chest felt tight, as though Hodor was sitting on her. She turned away, grabbed Gendry's arm, and dragged him back to the shed.
They buried the mother behind the paddock as Gendry held the sleeping baby, a sullen look on his face. For once he'd ventured an opinion unasked- he didn't think they should keep the baby. She was half-starved, they had no milk, and she might cry and bring down raiders upon their heads. Arya knew Gendry was right, but they couldn't just leave her.
Before Arya could say anything, Sansa whirled at Gendry, her eyes blazing.
"She's one of our people." Sansa's face was stern as father's, and Gendry said nothing more.
But now Sansa's face was still and sad as she sang a hymn to the Mother. Did the mother in the grave know that her baby was safe? Did Arya's mother miss her? Would she ever see her again? Sansa pressed a weirwood seed into the freshly dug earth, and they turned their backs on the grave.
They were preparing to leave the hovel when a crow cawed in the distance. Sansa tilted her head, an odd look on her face.
"Wait," she commanded.
Gendry's brow furrowed, and Arya shrugged. A few minutes later, a nanny goat appeared. She was bedraggled but unharmed, and her udder was plump with milk.
While Merissa milked the goat into one of their waterskins, Jeyne and Sansa fashioned a sling from part of the dead mother's blanket, strapping the baby to Sansa's chest. They couldn't find anything to make a lead for the goat, but she agreed to follow them when Arya asked. Her people were gone, except for the baby, and there was little left to eat.
"This isn't right," Sansa said as she dripped goat milk into the babe's mouth. Her voice was soft but full of rage. "This isn't how wars are supposed to be fought."
"My gram told me when lords fight their men might steal our cows, or food." Merissa's eyes were cold. "She said cities were dangerous, if there was a sack. But this..."
"I hope Robb's men burn the Westerlands," Arya snapped. "They deserve it."
"Did Sherrer deserve it?" Merissa asked, her voice bitter. "Will burning the Westerlands bring back my mam and Daisy and Chestnut and t' sweet milk they gave?"
"Will it bring back my father?" Jeyne's eyes were still wet with tears.
"The man who passes the sentence must swing the sword," Sansa muttered under her breath. "The man who ordered the burning is the one who should pay, not the smallfolk bound to obey him."
"It's all the stupid king's fault for dying," Arya grumbled. "This wouldn't happen if he were alive."
"That old drunk?" Gendry scoffed. "All he cared about was feasts and tourneys, and he was too fat to go to war."
"He used to be young and brave and strong," Arya objected. The old king was a drunk, but he was father's friend. She looked over to see if Sansa was done feeding the baby. Her sister had the strangest look on her face.
The night air was cool as they made camp in the yellow wood. Arya's limbs ached from walking, and her clothes were muddy. The further west they went, the more twitchy Sansa became. Every crackling twig was soldiers or bandits coming to catch them. Arya knew she should be grateful for Sansa's keen ears, but she was tired of diving into ditches and hiding in caves.
Gendry was in a foul mood too. His black beard was growing as bristly as a briar patch, and so was his temper. Though Sansa and Meri were usually able to keep Nan quiet, it was only by stopping, milking the goat, and feeding the baby. Her wrinkled face had reminded Arya of Old Nan, but it was beginning to fill out some, even as hunger gnawed at Arya's belly.
Between the destruction of the fields and their slower pace, food was running low. The yellow wood had a few squirrels and rabbits, but they were skittish. It took hours of practice before Arya was any good with the slingshot. She finally caught a rabbit between the eyes after luring it out by saying hello. She felt bad, but the hunger felt worse.
Arya returned to camp to find Jeyne had filled their waterskins from a little stream. Arya took a sip and nearly spat it out. The water tasted of rot and death. Meri and Gendry had been more fortunate in their search. Meri had found a small thicket of blackberries, and their hands were stained purple by the juice as they poured the handfuls of berries onto a flat stone.
Sansa stared at the ripe berries, licking her lips. Sansa took the smallest, daintiest portions when they ate, as if they were guests at some fancy banquet. Her high cheekbones were growing sharper as their supplies dwindled, and her gown hung loosely. Arya shoved a handful of berries at Sansa, ignoring her protests.
"There was more berries, m'lady" Meri said gently.
Arya barely heard Sansa's reply as she slipped away. When she returned, her cloak piled high with berries, she set them at Sansa's feet with a smirk.
"You can't refuse a gift from your sworn shield," Arya said, trying to bow like Robb. Sansa choked back laughter and rolled her eyes, but she ate Arya's berries while the others descended upon the pile Meri and Gendry had collected.
When all the berries were gone, Meri began going through their supplies while Sansa rocked the baby to sleep. When Meri was finished, she examined Arya's rabbit.
"We need a fire to cook this," Merissa whispered.
"No fires," Gendry growled softly, careful not to wake Nan. "A bellyful of worms is better than a bellyful of arrows."
"There's been smoke everywhere, how would one little fire do any harm?" Jeyne's stomach gurgled, and she put a hand on it as if that would fill her belly.
The argument lasted until Sansa finally put her foot down, as courteous and as unyielding as Lady Catelyn despite the baby drooling on her. Merissa would cook the rabbit over a small fire built from dry twigs, and then they'd douse the fire immediately. True to Meri's word, the little wisps of smoke twirled and danced, but they didn't go far. The rabbit tasted better than any meal Arya could remember. Even Gendry looked a bit happier.
None of the trees had branches low enough to climb, so they made a little nest in a grassy area surrounded by the blackberry thicket. They had to be careful not to brush against the thorns as they squeezed between the bushes, but they should be safe anough. No one would be able to see them, unless they could fly.
The goat lay down first, used to serving as a pillow. Jeyne and Merissa gathered reeds from the stream, and Arya laid cloaks over the reeds. While everyone else settled into their hidden bed, Nan tucked carefully between them, Sansa took the first watch, promising to wake Arya when it was time to switch.
The village at the edge of the woods glowed, lit by the flickering flames on the thatched roofs. Men in dull armor laughed as they threw their plunder into wagons. In the darkness the wolves encircled the men, waiting for the signal.
Nymeria growled as she approached the grappling figures beneath the trees. A woman cursed as the man pinning her opened his breeches, laughing as she struggled. Then the she-wolf leapt, her jaws closing on the flesh jutting from between his legs. With a high scream the man staggered back, and the woman slashed at him with the knife that had been at her throat.
The wolves threw back their heads and howled before descending upon the raiders. Blood spurted from a dozen throats, and the rest of the men fled into the woods.
Arya awoke suddenly. Had Sansa come to rouse her? But there was no one there, just the rustle of leaves in the breeze. Calm as still water, she told herself. Quiet as a shadow.
Arya crept out of the thicket, her hand on Needle's hilt. Sansa wasn't at her post. Where could she be? Was she off planting another weirwood? Was she making water behind a tree?
On silent feet Arya searched the woods, not daring to call Sansa's name. The moonless sky was dark, and Arya tripped on the uneven ground, scraping her hands as she caught herself on a rock. She bit her tongue, forcing herself not to cry out.
Listen with your ears, Syrio had said. Arya could still hear herself panting from her fall. Slow, deep breaths, she reminded herself. Once her breathing was quiet, it was easier to hear. The stream murmured behind her. An owl hooted in the distance to her left. There was a rustle nearby, and Arya turned- to hear the scrape of swords being unsheathed.
