The trees closed in around them as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the forest in hues of gray and black. Katrina leaned heavily on Jon, her breath coming in short gasps. Ghost walked beside them, his muzzle still stained with the blood of the raiders, while Dream darted ahead, pausing every so often to glance back at them with what seemed like impatience.
"We need to stop," Jon said firmly, his voice low but resolute.
Katrina shook her head, though the motion was weak. "We stop, they catch up. You know that."
"If we don't stop, you'll collapse," Jon countered, his grip tightening around her arm. "You're bleeding again."
Katrina glanced down at her side, where the crude bandage he'd tied earlier was now dark with fresh blood. She swore under her breath but didn't argue further. Her legs gave out as they reached a small clearing, and Jon caught her, lowering her carefully to the ground.
"Stubborn," he muttered, kneeling beside her.
"Look who's talking," she shot back, though her voice lacked its usual bite.
Jon ignored her and set to work checking her wound. The gash was angry and red, the edges swollen. Infection was setting in, and fast. He tore another strip from his already tattered cloak and pressed it to the wound, earning a sharp hiss from Katrina.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" she said through gritted teeth.
"Immensely," Jon replied dryly, though his brow was furrowed with concern. "This isn't good. We need something to clean it properly."
"Got a magic flask of healer's brew in your pack?" she asked, her smirk faint but present.
"No," Jon said, his tone grim. "But I'll find something."
Katrina grabbed his wrist, her grip surprisingly strong despite her condition. "Don't leave. The last thing I need is to wake up with those bastards standing over me."
Jon hesitated, torn between her plea and the knowledge that staying put might mean losing her to infection. He glanced at Ghost, who was sitting at the edge of the clearing, his crimson eyes scanning the darkness.
"I won't go far," Jon said finally. "Ghost will stay with you."
Katrina gave him a faint nod, her fingers loosening their grip. "Just don't do anything heroic, Snow. It doesn't suit you."
Jon didn't respond, but a ghost of a smile touched his lips as he rose to his feet. He adjusted Longclaw on his back and disappeared into the trees, leaving Katrina with Ghost and Dream.
The forest was a maze of shadows and snow, the silence broken only by the occasional creak of branches under the weight of frost. Jon moved quickly, his eyes scanning for anything useful—plants, moss, anything that might stave off the infection. He cursed himself for not preparing better, for letting Katrina get to this point.
The memory of her fighting off the raiders, blood soaking her side as she refused to back down, replayed in his mind. She was reckless, stubborn, and infuriating—but she was also strong in a way that left him in awe. He couldn't lose her. Not now.
As he rounded a cluster of trees, he spotted a faint glimmer in the snow—a small patch of pale green leaves sprouting from the base of a tree. Jon knelt and examined it, recognizing it as frostmoss, a plant the Maester at Winterfell had taught him about. It wasn't a miracle cure, but it had antiseptic properties.
"This will have to do," he muttered, gathering as much as he could.
The sound of snapping twigs behind him made him freeze. He turned slowly, Longclaw in hand, his breath visible in the cold air.
A figure emerged from the shadows—a Wildling, his face painted with streaks of ash and his fur-lined armor caked with frost. He held a crude axe, his expression unreadable as he sized Jon up.
"You don't belong here, crow," the Wildling said, his voice low and guttural.
"I'm not looking for a fight," Jon said, keeping his tone calm. "I just need to help my friend."
The Wildling snorted. "Your kind always says that. And yet, you bring death wherever you go."
Jon tightened his grip on Longclaw. "If you want to fight, you'll regret it."
The Wildling stared at him for a long moment before lowering his axe. "You've got fire, crow. I'll give you that. But fire alone won't keep you alive out here."
Jon didn't lower his sword. "What do you want?"
The Wildling tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. "I saw the raiders chasing you. They're desperate, angry. They'll hunt you to the ends of the forest. Unless…" He paused, a sly grin spreading across his face. "You make them fear you first."
Jon frowned. "And how do you suggest I do that?"
The Wildling reached into a pouch at his belt and pulled out a small, intricately carved bone whistle. "You call the wolves."
Jon's heart skipped a beat. "What wolves?"
"The kind that don't belong to this world," the Wildling said, his grin widening. "They'll take care of your enemies. But they always demand a price."
Jon stared at the whistle, unease coiling in his gut. He didn't trust the Wildling, but if the raiders caught up to them, Katrina wouldn't survive another fight.
"What's the price?" Jon asked.
The Wildling shrugged. "That's for the wolves to decide."
Jon hesitated, his mind racing. He didn't like the idea of calling on forces he didn't understand, but Katrina's life was on the line.
He reached out and took the whistle.
When Jon returned to the clearing, Katrina was pale but conscious, her eyes narrowing as she saw the whistle in his hand.
"What's that?" she asked.
"Help," Jon said, kneeling beside her. He crushed the frostmoss into a paste and pressed it gently to her wound. "We're not alone in this forest."
Katrina's smirk was faint but genuine. "You're full of surprises, Snow."
Jon didn't answer. As he worked, the weight of the whistle hung heavy in his mind, its meaning as uncertain as the forest itself.
The frostmoss paste seemed to ease Katrina's pain, though her sharp breaths told Jon it wasn't a cure. She leaned back against the base of the tree, her golden eyes watching him intently as he worked. Dream sat curled in her lap, her tail flicking lazily, while Ghost prowled the edge of the clearing, his growls low and constant.
Jon finished securing the fresh bandage around Katrina's waist and sat back, the carved bone whistle still tucked in his hand. He hadn't told her what the Wildling had said about the wolves or their price. He wasn't sure if he believed it himself.
"You going to tell me what's on your mind, or are you just going to sit there brooding?" Katrina asked, her voice tinged with amusement despite her exhaustion.
Jon glanced at her, his dark eyes shadowed. "We're being hunted. The raiders won't stop until we make them."
"Make them?" Katrina raised an eyebrow. "That sounds ominous, even for you."
Jon hesitated, turning the whistle over in his fingers. "I ran into a Wildling while I was gathering the moss. He gave me this."
Katrina leaned forward, wincing as she shifted. "A whistle? What does it do?"
Jon held it up, the smooth bone catching the faint light of the dying fire. "He said it calls wolves. Not Ghost's kind—something darker. Something that doesn't belong in this world."
Katrina frowned, her expression wary. "And you believe him?"
"I don't know," Jon admitted. "But he wasn't lying about the raiders. They'll find us eventually."
Katrina's gaze lingered on the whistle, her fingers brushing against Dream's fur. "And these wolves… What's the catch?"
Jon looked away, his jaw tightening. "They demand a price. He didn't say what."
Katrina laughed softly, though it lacked her usual bite. "Of course they do. Nothing comes for free, especially not in the North."
Jon didn't respond, his eyes fixed on the fire. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken doubts and fears. Ghost returned from the edge of the clearing, his crimson eyes meeting Jon's as if sensing his turmoil.
Finally, Katrina spoke. "So, what are you waiting for, Snow? Blow the damn thing."
Jon looked at her, startled. "You think I should?"
Katrina shrugged, though her gaze was serious. "What's the alternative? Sit here and hope the raiders have a change of heart? We don't have time for that."
Jon hesitated, the weight of the whistle feeling heavier in his hand. He glanced at Ghost, who huffed softly, his body tense. "If this goes wrong—"
"It won't," Katrina interrupted. "We've faced worse, haven't we?"
Jon wasn't so sure, but he nodded, his grip tightening on the whistle. He brought it to his lips and blew. The sound was faint, almost imperceptible, like the rustling of leaves in the wind. But the air seemed to shift, the forest growing impossibly still.
Katrina sat up straighter, her golden eyes darting to the shadows. "Did it work?"
Before Jon could answer, Ghost growled low in his throat, his hackles rising. Dream leapt from Katrina's lap, her fur bristling as she hissed at something unseen. The fire flickered, the shadows stretching unnaturally long.
And then they appeared.
Wolves. Massive and dark, their forms more shadow than flesh. Their eyes glowed an eerie silver, and their movements were silent, as if they didn't disturb the earth beneath them. They emerged from the trees, their presence cold and otherworldly.
Katrina's hand tightened around her spear, though Jon noticed her knuckles were white. "Those aren't wolves," she whispered. "Not really."
The largest of the creatures stepped forward, its head low and its glowing eyes fixed on Jon. Its presence was suffocating, a weight pressing down on the clearing.
Jon stood, forcing himself to meet its gaze. "We need your help," he said, his voice steady despite the pounding of his heart. "The raiders—"
The wolf's growl cut him off, low and rumbling, shaking the air itself. It wasn't anger—it was a warning. A promise. The creature's eyes shifted to Katrina, its gaze lingering as if it could see through her.
"The fire burns within," the wolf's voice echoed in Jon's mind, cold and ancient. "The shadow walks with her."
Jon stiffened. It was the same warning the man in the forest had given. "What does that mean?"
The wolf didn't answer. Instead, it stepped closer to Katrina, its massive form dwarfing her. Dream hissed, her back arched, but the wolf ignored her. It lowered its head, sniffing the air around Katrina before baring its teeth in what could have been a grin—or a threat.
"The fire will consume her," the wolf said, its voice a chorus of whispers. "Unless the shadow is claimed."
Katrina's golden eyes burned with defiance as she met the wolf's gaze. "I don't need cryptic riddles. Either help us, or don't."
The wolf turned back to Jon, its silver eyes piercing. "We will hunt your enemies," it said. "But when the time comes, the fire's price will be paid."
Jon swallowed hard, his hand tightening around Longclaw. "What is the price?"
The wolf didn't answer. It melted back into the shadows, followed by the rest of the pack. The clearing grew silent once more, the only sound the crackling of the fire.
"They'll hunt the raiders," Jon said finally, his voice hollow.
"And then what?" Katrina asked, her tone sharp. "What happens when they come back for their price?"
Jon looked at her, his dark eyes shadowed. "We'll deal with that when it happens."
Katrina scoffed, but she didn't argue. As the night deepened, they sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. The wolves had answered the call, but their warning lingered like frost in the air, chilling Jon to the bone.
The night stretched long and restless. Jon sat by the dying fire, his hands wrapped tightly around Longclaw's hilt. Ghost lay nearby, his crimson eyes fixed on the forest's edge, while Dream perched on a low branch above Katrina, her green eyes glinting in the faint light.
Katrina had fallen into an uneasy sleep, her head resting against the trunk of a tree. Her breaths were shallow, and Jon could see the pain etched into her face even in sleep. The infection in her wound worried him, but he pushed the thought aside. For now, the wolves were out there, hunting their enemies, buying them time.
But at what cost?
The bone whistle felt heavier than it should in his cloak. The wolves' warning—the fire and shadow, the price—echoed in his mind. He didn't know what it meant, but the look in Katrina's golden eyes when the wolf had spoken to her told him she did.
A distant howl broke the silence, low and mournful. Jon tensed, his grip tightening on Longclaw as he stood. Ghost rose with him, his ears swiveling toward the sound.
"They've found something," Jon murmured, more to himself than anyone else.
Katrina stirred, her eyes fluttering open. She groaned softly, pushing herself upright. "What's going on?"
"The wolves," Jon said, his voice low. "They're hunting the raiders."
"Good," Katrina muttered, wincing as she adjusted her position. "Let them tear those bastards apart."
Jon didn't reply. He stared into the darkness, his instincts prickling. Something felt wrong—off. The forest was too still, the air too heavy.
Dream let out a low hiss, her tail lashing as she stared at something beyond the firelight. Ghost growled, his body tense.
"What is it?" Katrina asked, her voice sharper now.
Jon shook his head, his eyes scanning the shadows. "Stay here."
Before Katrina could argue, he stepped out of the clearing, Ghost following close at his side. The night swallowed him as he moved through the trees, his boots crunching softly in the snow. The howls had stopped, replaced by an oppressive silence that made his heart race.
Then he saw it.
A figure slumped against a tree, blood staining the snow around it. Jon approached cautiously, his sword at the ready. As he drew closer, the figure came into focus—a raider, his chest torn open, his eyes wide with terror. The wolves had found him.
But something was wrong.
Jon crouched beside the body, examining the jagged wounds. They weren't clean, like those left by claws. They were… jagged, messy, as if something else had finished what the wolves had started.
Ghost growled low in his throat, his crimson eyes fixed on the trees ahead. Jon followed his gaze and froze.
Another figure stepped into view—a man, but not a raider. His clothes were black, a tattered cloak draped over his shoulders. He held a blade in his hand, its edge dark with blood. And on his chest, barely visible in the faint light, was the sigil of the Night's Watch.
Jon stood slowly, his heart pounding. "Who are you?"
The man tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. "A brother," he said, his voice low and rasping. "Or I was."
Jon's grip on Longclaw tightened. "You're not with the Watch anymore."
"No," the man said, stepping closer. "Not after what they did."
Jon's jaw clenched. "What are you talking about?"
The man smiled faintly, though it didn't reach his hollow eyes. "They betrayed me. Left me for dead beyond the Wall. And now… I return the favor."
Jon realized too late what was happening. The man lunged, his blade slashing toward Jon with deadly precision. Jon barely had time to parry, the clash of steel ringing out in the quiet forest. Ghost lunged at the man, but the stranger moved with unnatural speed, dodging the direwolf's attack.
"You should've stayed at the Wall, boy," the man hissed, circling Jon. "You don't belong out here."
Jon didn't respond. He focused on the fight, his sword moving in fluid arcs as he blocked and countered. The man was fast, but Jon was relentless, his strikes forcing the stranger back.
Finally, with a well-timed swing, Jon knocked the blade from the man's hand. He pressed Longclaw to the stranger's throat, his breath coming in short gasps. "Who sent you?"
The man laughed, a cold, hollow sound. "No one. I sent myself."
Jon's brow furrowed, but before he could question further, the man's expression twisted. His eyes darkened, and his body convulsed. Jon stepped back in shock as the man collapsed, his body crumpling into the snow.
A shadow emerged from him, dark and twisting, before dissipating into the air. Ghost snarled, his teeth bared, but the presence was gone as quickly as it had come.
Jon stared at the body, his mind racing. Whatever had just happened wasn't natural. It wasn't human.
He turned back toward the clearing, his heart pounding. He had more questions than ever, but one thing was certain: whatever they were facing was far more dangerous than he'd realized. And Katrina was at the center of it.