The cave was a welcome reprieve from the biting cold of the wilderness. Its entrance was partially hidden by a cluster of snow-laden pines, and inside, the walls were smooth and dry, glistening faintly with frost. Katrina moved with practiced ease, tossing her pack onto the ground near the center and kneeling to start a fire.
Jon stood at the entrance, his eyes scanning the surrounding area one last time. The distant growls and moans of the wights had faded, but his muscles remained taut, his grip on Longclaw firm.
"You going to stand there all night, Snow?" Katrina asked, glancing at him over her shoulder. The flickering firelight danced across her face, casting sharp shadows that made her golden eyes seem even brighter.
Jon sheathed his sword and stepped inside, Ghost padding silently behind him. The direwolf sniffed the air, then circled the cave once before settling near the fire.
"Smart wolf," Katrina muttered, feeding the flames with a handful of dried moss. "Unlike his master."
Jon ignored the jab and sat down across from her, the heat from the growing fire easing the chill in his bones. He watched as she pulled a small bundle of meat from her pack and skewered it on a stick, holding it over the flames.
"Where did you learn to survive like this?" he asked after a moment.
Katrina smirked, not looking up. "I told you, Snow—I'm a survivor. You learn fast when the alternative is freezing to death or getting eaten by a bear."
"Not exactly an answer," Jon said, leaning back against the cave wall. He folded his arms, his dark eyes studying her. "You don't talk much about yourself."
"Why would I? You've already decided what you think of me." She tilted her head, her tone light but her gaze sharp. "I'm just another Wildling to you, right? Someone you're supposed to fight or ignore."
Jon's jaw tightened. "I don't see you that way."
"Don't you?" Katrina raised an eyebrow, finally meeting his eyes. "Then why are you really here? Why didn't you go back to your Wall, your brothers, your oaths? Why follow me?"
Jon hesitated, her words cutting deeper than he wanted to admit. The truth was, he didn't fully understand it himself. There was something about Katrina that pulled at him—her fire, her strength, her refusal to bow to anything or anyone. She was unlike anyone he'd ever met, and that terrified him as much as it intrigued him.
"I don't know," he admitted finally, his voice quiet. "Maybe I just didn't want to leave you out here alone."
Katrina blinked, as if surprised by his honesty. For a moment, her smirk faltered, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. But she quickly masked it, turning her attention back to the fire.
"Well, I'm not alone now, am I?" she said, her tone light again. "Lucky me."
Jon frowned, unsure whether she was mocking him or herself. Before he could respond, she handed him the skewer of cooked meat.
"Here. Eat. You'll need your strength if you're going to keep up with me tomorrow."
He took the skewer, the warm, smoky aroma making his stomach growl. As he ate, he watched her carefully, trying to piece together the puzzle of Katrina Littlefoot. She was guarded, yes, but not unkind. Wary but not cruel. A survivor, like she said—but of what, he still didn't know.
"Why did you leave the Wall?" Katrina asked suddenly, breaking the silence.
Jon swallowed his bite of meat and set the skewer down. "I didn't leave. I was sent on a mission beyond the Wall."
"To do what?" she pressed.
"Scout. Protect the realm from threats in the North."
Katrina snorted softly. "Protect the realm, huh? And how's that working out for you?"
Jon bristled but didn't rise to the bait. "We do what we can. It's not easy, but it's necessary."
"Necessary," Katrina repeated, her voice tinged with bitterness. "And who decides what's necessary? Your lords? Your commanders? People who've probably never even seen a wight, let alone fought one?"
Jon stared at her, taken aback by the vehemence in her tone. "What happened to you, Katrina?"
For a long moment, she didn't answer. She stared into the fire, her expression unreadable. When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter, almost distant.
"What happens to anyone who lives out here? You lose things. People. Yourself, sometimes."
Jon didn't press her further. He could see the weight of her words, the pain she tried so hard to hide. Instead, he said softly, "You haven't lost yourself. Not completely."
Katrina looked at him then, her golden eyes searching his face as if trying to decide whether to believe him. Finally, she shook her head and smiled—a small, fleeting thing, but real.
"Careful, Snow," she said, her voice teasing but gentle. "You might just make me like you."
Jon felt his lips twitch into a faint smile, despite himself. "Would that be so bad?"
Katrina chuckled, tossing another log onto the fire. "We'll see."
As the flames crackled and the night deepened, Jon found himself wondering not for the first time what he had gotten himself into—and why, despite everything, he didn't want to leave.
Jon woke to the sound of rustling. His eyes shot open, and his hand instinctively reached for Longclaw. The cave was dark, the fire reduced to glowing embers. Ghost was on his feet, his ears perked and his crimson eyes focused on Katrina.
She was crouched by the cave entrance, her back to him, her silhouette outlined by the faint glow of dawn. Jon relaxed slightly, but only slightly. She wasn't exactly predictable, and her penchant for secrets kept him on edge.
"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice hoarse from sleep.
She glanced back at him, her golden eyes gleaming in the low light. "Making sure we don't get ambushed while you dream about your fancy castles and oaths."
Jon sat up, rubbing the sleep from his face. "I don't dream about castles."
"Sure, you don't." She smirked and turned back to the cave entrance, her spear resting casually against her shoulder.
Jon sighed and stood, his joints stiff from the cold. He moved to Ghost, running a hand through the direwolf's thick fur. "Is there something out there?"
"Not yet," Katrina said, her tone dismissive. "But it doesn't hurt to be careful. Especially when you've got a tendency to attract trouble."
Jon frowned. "Me? Attract trouble?"
She looked over her shoulder again, raising an eyebrow. "Let's see. You're a crow wandering around north of the Wall, you carry a sword that looks like it belongs to a king, and you've got a wolf that could eat most men for breakfast. Yeah, you're subtle."
Jon opened his mouth to argue but decided against it. She wasn't wrong, exactly. Instead, he asked, "How long have you been up?"
"Long enough." She straightened and stretched, her movements fluid and cat-like. "Come on, Snow. If we're going to survive out here, we need to move."
Jon grabbed his pack, slinging it over his shoulder. "Where are we going this time?"
Katrina grinned, her expression equal parts mischievous and cryptic. "There's a place not far from here. It's…safe. Or as safe as anything gets out here."
Jon narrowed his eyes. "You're being vague again."
"It's part of my charm," she quipped, motioning for him to follow her.
They stepped out into the pale morning light, the world around them blanketed in white. The cold bit at Jon's face, but he ignored it, focusing instead on keeping pace with Katrina. Ghost trotted beside him, his nose to the ground.
As they walked, Jon noticed something different about her. She wasn't as talkative as the day before, her usual sharp remarks replaced by silence. Her gaze darted to the trees more often, her grip on her spear tighter. She was on edge.
"Is something wrong?" Jon asked after a while.
Katrina didn't answer immediately. When she did, her voice was quieter than usual. "This place we're going… It's where I used to live. Before…"
"Before what?" Jon pressed gently.
She hesitated, her steps slowing. "Before everything fell apart."
Jon watched her carefully, unsure how to respond. He'd seen this side of her only briefly the night before—a glimpse of the pain she kept buried beneath her bravado. It made him want to understand her, to help her, even if she refused to admit she needed it.
"Is that why you're out here?" he asked. "Because of what happened?"
Katrina stopped walking and turned to face him, her golden eyes locking onto his. "I don't owe you my life story, Snow."
"I'm not asking for that," Jon said, his voice steady. "But if we're going to survive out here, I need to understand what we're dealing with."
She studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she sighed and ran a hand through her dark braids. "The people I lived with…my family, my friends… They're gone. Killed. Some by the cold, some by wights, some by men who thought we didn't belong. That's the short version."
Jon felt a pang of sympathy, but he knew better than to say anything. Katrina didn't strike him as someone who wanted pity.
"I'm sorry," he said simply.
Katrina shrugged, though her posture was tense. "Don't be. It's the way of the world, isn't it? You survive or you don't."
They continued walking in silence, the weight of her words hanging between them. After a while, Jon spoke again.
"This place we're going to… What's there?"
Katrina's smirk returned, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "You'll see."
Jon rolled his eyes but didn't press her. He'd learned by now that Katrina Littlefoot would tell him things in her own time—or not at all. Still, as they walked, he couldn't shake the feeling that whatever lay ahead was something far more complicated—and dangerous—than she was letting on.