The air grew colder as night fell over the Wolfswood, each shadow stretching longer, darker. The trio rode in uneasy silence, their horses picking their way carefully through the dense forest. Violet's eyes darted to the treetops, the wind whispering ominously through the branches.
"Do you really think there's something worse than wolves out here?" she asked Lucan, her voice barely louder than the wind.
Lucan rode beside her, his spear balanced across his saddle. His green eyes scanned the woods, his expression grim. "I don't think it. I know it."
Jon, ahead of them, tightened his grip on his sword. "You said you saw tracks. What kind of tracks?"
Lucan hesitated, his jaw tightening. "Massive ones. Clawed. Not like any beast I've seen, and I've hunted everything from bears to shadowcats."
Violet felt a chill crawl down her spine. "Do you think it's heading toward Winterfell?"
Lucan nodded. "The tracks were fresh. If we don't warn your people soon, they might not be ready."
Jon didn't look back, but his voice was firm. "We'll get there in time. Stay focused."
But the woods seemed alive around them, each creak of the trees and rustle of the underbrush setting their nerves on edge. Violet couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched.
They rode on, the forest growing denser and more oppressive. When the sound came, it was sudden—a low, guttural growl that seemed to reverberate through the trees.
"Stop," Jon ordered, his voice sharp.
The horses snorted nervously, their ears twitching. Violet's heart pounded as she reached for her bow, her fingers trembling against the string.
Lucan dismounted silently, his spear in hand. "It's close," he murmured.
Jon slid from his saddle, gesturing for Violet to stay mounted. "Keep high ground," he told her.
But before she could argue, the beast emerged.
It was larger than any animal Violet had ever seen—twice the size of a direwolf, with fur as black as midnight and eyes that gleamed a sickly yellow. Its claws glinted like daggers, and its mouth curled into a snarl, revealing rows of jagged teeth.
The horses reared in panic, and Violet struggled to keep control of her mount. Jon and Lucan stepped forward, their weapons raised.
"What is that?" Violet whispered, her voice trembling.
"I've only heard whispers," Lucan said, his voice grim. "They call it a shadowbeast. Thought it was just a story."
"Well, it's not a story now," Jon muttered, shifting his stance.
The beast roared, a deafening sound that sent birds scattering from the treetops. It lunged toward Jon, its claws slashing through the air. Jon barely dodged, his sword slicing across the beast's side.
Lucan moved like lightning, driving his spear into the creature's shoulder. The shadowbeast howled, rearing back, and Lucan barely avoided its snapping jaws.
Violet, still on her horse, nocked an arrow and aimed for the beast's eye. She released the string, her shot flying true. The arrow struck the beast just above its eye, and it reeled, shaking its massive head.
"Good shot!" Jon yelled, charging forward.
The beast swiped at him, its claws raking across his cloak. Lucan took the opportunity to strike again, driving his spear into the beast's flank.
But it wasn't enough. The creature was relentless, its strength unmatched. Violet slid from her horse, determined to help.
"Violet, stay back!" Jon shouted, but she ignored him.
Grabbing another arrow, Violet circled around the beast, looking for an opening. She saw it—an exposed patch of flesh beneath its thick fur, near its neck.
She steadied her breathing, drew the bowstring, and fired. The arrow sank deep, and the beast let out a guttural cry, collapsing to the ground.
Jon and Lucan stepped back, breathing heavily as the creature twitched once, then lay still.
Violet lowered her bow, her hands shaking.
"That," Lucan said after a moment, "was impressive."
Jon glared at her. "I told you to stay back."
"And let you two get yourselves killed?" Violet shot back, her voice rising.
Before Jon could argue, Lucan stepped between them. "Save it for later. If there's one of these things out here, there could be more."
Jon nodded reluctantly, his expression grim. "We need to get back to Winterfell. Now."
Violet glanced at the fallen beast, unease twisting in her stomach. She couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of something far worse.
As they mounted their horses and rode into the night, she found herself glancing over her shoulder, half-expecting to see those yellow eyes glowing in the shadows once more.
The snow was falling heavier now, a thick blanket that muffled their horses' hoofbeats as the group pressed on toward Winterfell. The shadowbeast encounter had left them all on edge, their senses sharp and strained. Violet kept glancing into the woods, her bow resting uneasily across her lap.
The silence was broken by the faint sound of barking—a low, gruff woof that echoed through the trees.
"What now?" Jon muttered, tightening his grip on his sword.
Lucan raised his hand, signaling for them to stop. "Stay quiet. We don't know who—or what—that is."
The barking grew louder, closer, until it was accompanied by the crunch of boots on snow. A figure emerged from the woods, shrouded in a heavy cloak that obscured most of his face. Beside him trotted a large dog, its coat thick and shaggy, its eyes gleaming in the dim light.
Jon dismounted, his sword drawn. "Who's there?"
The figure paused, his head tilting as if studying them. When he spoke, his voice was gravelly and deep. "Strangers in the Wolfswood at night? Either you're fools or desperate."
"We're not fools," Jon replied firmly. "We're heading to Winterfell."
The man stepped closer, and Violet tensed. He was older, with a long gray beard that peeked out from his hood and sharp blue eyes that seemed to pierce through them. The dog at his side growled softly, its teeth bared.
"You shouldn't be out here," the man said. "Not with the beasts that roam these woods."
"We've already encountered one," Lucan said, his spear at the ready. "A shadowbeast."
The man's eyes narrowed. "A shadowbeast? You're lucky to be alive." He looked at Violet, his gaze lingering on her bow. "Who shot the kill shot?"
Violet hesitated, then raised her hand slightly. "I did."
The man grunted, then bent down to scratch the dog behind its ears. "Sammy doesn't like strangers, but he knows good folk when he smells them. I'm Leroy," he said. "And if you've seen one shadowbeast, there'll be more. Come with me."
Jon exchanged a wary glance with Lucan, his expression unreadable. "Why should we trust you?"
Leroy chuckled, the sound low and rough. "Because I've lived in these woods for forty years, boy. I know how to survive out here—and I know what's coming."
Violet spoke up, her voice calm but firm. "What's coming?"
The old man's face grew serious. "Death. The shadowbeasts don't wander this far south for no reason. Something's driving them."
Jon hesitated, but Violet slid off her horse. "We don't have a choice. We can't survive another attack out here."
Leroy nodded, gesturing for them to follow. "Smart girl. My cabin's not far."
The cabin was small but sturdy, nestled in a clearing surrounded by tall pines. Smoke rose from the chimney, and the warm glow of firelight spilled through the windows. Sammy trotted ahead, his tail wagging as they approached.
Inside, the cabin was cluttered but cozy. Animal pelts lined the walls, and a large cauldron bubbled over the hearth. Leroy waved them in, and the group gratefully stepped into the warmth.
"Sit," Leroy said, motioning to a wooden table. "You'll be safe here for the night."
Jon remained standing, his hand on his sword. "What do you know about these shadowbeasts?"
Leroy stirred the pot on the fire, his expression grim. "They're not natural. They're creatures of darkness, born of old magic. I've only seen them twice before, and both times, they left nothing but death in their wake."
Violet shivered, wrapping her cloak tighter around her shoulders. "Why are they here now?"
"Something's stirring in the North," Leroy said. "Something ancient. These beasts are just the beginning."
Lucan frowned. "You're saying there's more than just shadowbeasts?"
Leroy turned to him, his blue eyes sharp. "Aye. And they're heading for Winterfell."
The group fell silent, the weight of his words settling over them. After a moment, Leroy placed a bowl of stew in front of each of them. "Eat. You'll need your strength."
Violet hesitated, but the smell of the stew was too enticing to resist. She took a cautious bite and found it rich and hearty. "Thank you," she said softly.
Leroy nodded, his expression softening. "You've got a good aim, girl. That'll serve you well in the days to come."
As they ate, Sammy lay by the fire, his eyes half-closed but his ears twitching at every sound. Leroy sat with them, his presence both comforting and imposing.
"You'll leave at first light," he said. "I'll guide you part of the way, but then you're on your own."
Jon frowned. "Why not come with us to Winterfell?"
Leroy shook his head. "My place is here. But you'll make it, if you're smart." He looked at Violet again, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "You're stronger than you think, girl. Don't forget that."
Violet felt a strange sense of reassurance at his words, as if he saw something in her that even she didn't understand.
That night, as they rested in Leroy's cabin, Violet couldn't shake the feeling that their encounter with him was no coincidence. The shadowbeasts, the tracks, Leroy's warnings—they were all pieces of a puzzle she was only beginning to understand.
And somewhere in the darkness, something far more dangerous was watching, waiting.
The fire crackled softly in Leroy's cabin as Violet lay awake, the warmth of the hearth unable to chase away the unease in her chest. She closed her eyes, trying to push away thoughts of shadowbeasts and what awaited them at Winterfell. Instead, her mind drifted to a simpler time—a memory she hadn't visited in years.
They were children then, no older than six. Winterfell was coated in a pristine layer of snow, the kind that sparkled under the pale winter sun. Jon and Violet stood together near the training yard, their breath visible in the chilly air.
"Father said we could watch Robb practice today," Jon whispered, his dark curls falling into his eyes.
Violet tugged at his sleeve. "I want to practice too."
Jon hesitated. "Father says the sword is heavy. You might not be able to lift it."
Violet scowled. "I can lift it."
Before Jon could respond, a loud voice broke through their conversation.
"Jon! Violet! What are you two plotting over there?" Robb called, his wooden practice sword slung over his shoulder. His cheeks were flushed with excitement as he approached, his steps confident despite the snow.
"We're not plotting," Violet said, crossing her arms.
Robb grinned. "You always look like you're plotting something, Violet."
Violet rolled her eyes, but Jon chuckled. "She wants to practice with a sword," he explained.
Robb's grin widened. "You? With a sword?"
"I can do it!" Violet snapped, her violet eyes flashing with determination.
"Let her try," a softer voice chimed in. Sansa appeared, her red hair tucked neatly beneath her fur-lined hood. Arya trailed behind her, looking bored but curious.
"Swords aren't for girls," Sansa said, her tone prim. "We're meant to learn embroidery and singing."
Arya frowned. "I'd rather have a sword."
"See?" Violet said, pointing at Arya.
Robb laughed. "Fine. Come on, then. But don't cry if it's too heavy."
Jon shot Robb a warning look but said nothing as Robb handed Violet his wooden practice sword. She gripped it with both hands, her face scrunched in concentration.
"It's not that—" Violet began, but as she swung it, the weight pulled her forward, and she landed face-first in the snow.
Robb doubled over with laughter, and even Jon struggled to hide a smile.
"Don't laugh at her!" Arya shouted, grabbing a handful of snow and hurling it at Robb.
It struck him square in the chest, and his laughter turned into a mock battle cry. "You'll pay for that, Arya!"
Within moments, the training yard erupted into chaos. Snowballs flew through the air as Robb chased Arya, Jon tried to shield Violet, and even Sansa got caught in the crossfire.
"Enough!"
The commanding voice froze them all in place. Eddard Stark stood at the edge of the yard, his gray eyes calm but firm.
"Father," Jon said quickly, brushing snow from his cloak.
Eddard's gaze swept over them, lingering on Violet, who still held the wooden sword. A faint smile tugged at his lips.
"Trying your hand at swordplay, Violet?" he asked.
She nodded, her cheeks red from the cold and embarrassment. "I want to be strong, like Robb and Jon."
Eddard crouched down, his expression softening. "Strength comes in many forms, Violet. But if you wish to learn, I'll teach you."
Her eyes widened. "Really?"
"Really," he said, his voice steady. "But you must also learn patience and discipline. A sword is not just a weapon; it's a responsibility."
Violet nodded eagerly, clutching the wooden sword tighter.
"Then we'll start tomorrow," Eddard said, straightening.
Robb groaned. "You never taught me that young!"
Eddard gave him a pointed look. "Perhaps you could use a refresher, Robb."
Jon and Violet exchanged a grin as Robb muttered under his breath.
"Now," Eddard said, his tone lighter, "go inside and warm up. Your mother will have my head if you catch cold."
As they trudged toward the Great Hall, Jon leaned close to Violet. "Told you it was heavy."
She elbowed him playfully, her heart light. For once, she hadn't felt like a shadow or an afterthought. She was Violet Snow, and her father believed in her.
The memory faded, and Violet opened her eyes to the dim light of Leroy's cabin. She glanced at Jon, who was sleeping near the fire, his face calm in the flickering glow.
Their father's words echoed in her mind: Strength comes in many forms.
She didn't feel strong now—not with the shadowbeasts, the mysterious tracks, and the looming danger. But she knew she couldn't afford to falter. Not for Jon, not for Winterfell, and not for herself.
Whatever lay ahead, she would face it.