"Fall back!"

The lord commander's voice rang out through the wind, though it was so faint, Caitie could barely tell the direction from which it came. She, Grenn, and Ghost did their best to follow the voice, running as fast as they could down the mountainside to escape the White Walker.

The two humans slashed at the dead with their weapons, trying to slow them down instead of worrying about outright killing them. Even that was difficult. So many of the wights in their path were freshly deceased, wearing black. Beneath the deadened crystalline blue eyes, Caitie even recognized some of their faces. She thought she might throw up as she cut one of her former brothers clean in half—Varel had been his name.

As they finally made it to the bottom, Caitie could see the much-smaller-ranging party. It was less than half the size of before. Despite the burning in her legs and chest, the biting winds, and the horror of killing her former comrades, neither she nor her companions slowed until they reached the relative safety of it.

Once they came to a halt, Caitie tried to recover her breath. She bent down, panting and sputtering, same as her friends.

"You saved my life," Grenn coughed out beside her.

She almost didn't hear it, between the wind and the mutters of the other men as they kept their weapons up, looking around for threats. It took a moment for her to regain enough air to reply. When she finally did, she said, "Well, you'd have done the same for me."

"Still. Thanks."

In another circumstance, she might have felt something at the thanks. But how could Caitie care about a silly little crush when a creature not seen for over a thousand years had nearly killed her?

Seven Hells, this couldn't be real—it was completely mad.

"From what I can tell," the lord commander announced, breaking her out of her thoughts, "we've lost two hundred men."

The muttering stopped immediately, replaced by an eerie silence.

"Fuck."

Her eyes locked onto the new voice. To Caitie's relief, she saw Edd, looking about as bloodied up as she probably did. Her face lit up. "You're okay!"

"Almost wasn't," he replied with his typical dry tone, but Caitie had an inkling he was closer to panic than he appeared. He looked the two of them over. "Good to see you're both alive."

She and Grenn glanced at each other nervously. "We saw—" Grenn started, but Edd cut him off.

"Aye, so did I."

Caitie doubted he knew what Grenn had been about to say. If he had, he wouldn't look so calm.

Mormont interrupted their brief conversation. "We've all seen it: the White Walkers are here," he said in affirmation.

There were murmurs of disbelief at the statement, but no one could deny what they'd seen firsthand.

Mormont's voice sounded again as he began a headcount, but Caitie wasn't paying attention to him. She was too busy looking around for Sam in order to ask what he thought of this new turn of events. Her eyes scanned the group of survivors, but she couldn't see him anywhere among them.

If Caitie had thought she was terrified before, it was nothing compared to now.

"Where's Sam?" she asked, staring with her eyes narrowed at Grenn and Edd.

Grenn looked down at his feet in shame, but Edd only shrugged. "We left him," he said simply.

Caitie went as motionless as the White Walker she had seen. "You left him," she repeated, her voice devoid of any emotion.

Even though she hadn't raised her voice, Grenn still flinched.

If she weren't so afraid, she might have felt satisfaction—or possibly guilt—from it.

"The Walkers, they were—" Edd started.

"Do I look like I care about your excuses?"

Caitie's heart was thumping harder than ever, imagining every scenario possible, each one worse than the last. Sam was out there all alone, probably—no, definitely—terrified. And that was if he even lived.

He could be a... a wight by now; lost forever.

"What the fuck were you two thinking?" she asked. This time, she raised her voice.

Edd had an answer ready. "He's fat and slow—"

"Shut up." Caitie wouldn't allow him to say it, even if it wasn't technically untrue.

They had left Sam. They had left Sam.

She rounded on Grenn. "And what's your excuse?"

He, at least, had the decency to look guilty, but it did little to calm her fury. "I…" Grenn began, but he couldn't think of anything else. He closed his mouth and continued to stare down at his feet.

Caitie's rage spiraled out of control. "If he's dead," she warned them, through clenched teeth, "I'll make you wish the White Walkers had finished you off."

She must have sounded unhinged. Caitie couldn't tell if Grenn and Edd looked more horrified or angry, but she didn't care. She should have, but no matter how hard she tried, she didn't. She was too consumed with the thought of Sam becoming like those wighted black brothers back on the mountain-top; his brown eyes that held so much intelligence turned blue and blank.

"Caitie," Mormont cut in, "calm yourself."

She very nearly told the lord commander to shove the order up his ass. But then she changed her mind, deciding it would only serve to get her killed. Caitie needed to focus on the bigger problem.

She had to find Sam.

As the ranging party—or what was left of it—conversed in low voices while they marched, Caitie held back with Ghost. His red eyes gleamed brightly, despite the terrible conditions. She could see his nose twitching as he sniffed the air around him. It gave her an idea. Bending down to meet the wolf's eyes, she pleaded, "Please, help me find Sam."

Ghost barked once and ran off. Caitie hoped meant he understood her.

The storm raged around the ranging party while they trudged their way through the snow. Luckily, the army of the dead was much more scattered away from the Fist, and there were no White Walkers in sight. Caitie could see better now, so she kept up her search for Sam. There wasn't any sign of him.

Her stomach churned, her head felt uncomfortably light and dizzying. She saw Sam in her mind's eye again, afraid and alone—or worse than that.

Just when she'd lost hope, Caitie heard faint but familiar growling noises—Ghost. With her heart in her throat, she sprinted in the noise's direction.

The direwolf had done his job and done it well. She came onto the scene just as Ghost was dragging a wight by its leg away from Sam. He lay sprawled on his back, staring wide-eyed in shock and fear, kicking with his feet as the wight still tried to grab at him. Mormont came up behind her in mere moments, lighting the wight on fire.

When the wight lay still, Sam pushed himself up off the ground and stared down at it. Tears welled in Caitie's eyes at the sight. He looked close to frozen, with ice clinging to the scruff he called a beard. His whole body shook; whether it was due to the cold or fear, Caitie didn't know, and he had tear tracks running down each cheek.

But he was alive, standing in front of her, apparently unharmed.

"Did you send out the ravens?" the lord commander asked, voice like steel.

Sam looked down at his feet, refusing to meet his superior's eyes.

"Tarly." Mormont took a step towards him. "Look at me."

Sam listened, and his brown eyes met Mormont's blue.

"Did you send the ravens?" he repeated.

Still looking petrified, Sam shook his head.

Mormont growled. "That was your job. Your only job!"

Caitie swallowed the words bubbling up inside of her before she lost her temper again. All she wanted was to defend Sam, to tell Mormont that he couldn't possibly have had time to send out the ravens before the ambush.

She knew she couldn't.

After he'd had his fill of scolding, the lord commander turned away from him to address the group, while Sam cowered away from the rest of them, still shaking, trying—and failing—not to cry.

"We need to get back to the Wall," Mormont said. "It's a long march. We know what's out there, but we have to make it back—have to warn them—or before winter's done," he paused for dramatic effect, "everyone you've ever known will be dead."

If Caitie hadn't understood the danger which this battle represented, she certainly did now. The lord commander's speech was terrifyingly effective. She could feel the anxiety of the others, combining with hers, heavy in the air like a thick, suffocating blanket. All Caitie wanted was to curl into a ball and hide like she'd used to as a small child.

But she refused to let the fear overtake her—Sam needed her, and he mattered more than a bit of fear.

Instinctively, she took two long strides and wrapped her arms around him. He stood stiffly for a second, and then he fell into the hug and sniffled into her cloak. Caitie could tell he was trying to stay strong, but his legs and arms shook violently, and his sniffles bordered on whimpering.

As the group started to move forward again, Caitie pulled away, though she refused to let go of Sam's hand. She wished they could be alone to speak freely, but they didn't have the time. The party had to leave now—before the army of the dead realized there were survivors.

"Come on," she whispered. "Let's get out of here."

He didn't respond, only shaking violently.

"Sam, it's okay," she said softly, trying to emulate Owen's most soothing voice—the one he used whenever their father had whipped her or Arthur. "I'm here. I'm not going to leave you again. I promise."

He made a quiet sniffling noise, but this time allowed her to lead him away after the rest of the men.

Sam might be alive, Caitie thought, but she was still considering stabbing both Grenn and Edd for the catatonic look on his face.