THE SPEARWIFE
The red comet carved its streak overhead, dark red against the bright orange, like some god of the giants had stuck its axe into the morning sky. Most of the camp watched it, those who weren't Canadian anyway. Or they did when they did not have some other duty that would cause the O'Neill or Zheng to come shouting at them to 'shift themselves'.
For the moment, Ygritte was not among those that had to. She stood dressed in her full battle array for the day's duties, pondering the comet at the entrance to Michael's tent. She was brushing her teeth with the plastic brush and the mint tasting tooth-paste that she favoured. She would soon have to get moving again soon, but for the moment, the mystery of the thing in the sky was too much to ignore.
Moving had been almost everything they had done since the comet had showed up.
Riding harder and faster than they had even on the way from the Wall to Winterfell, they had left Harrenhal and what the southrons called the Riverlands, entering the Crownlands before any kneeler host could expect to find them.
These were the lands of the Starks' enemies, and all here had heard of the Laughing Tree and the Canadians. Ygritte was greatly tickled by the kneelers' reaction to their arrival.
Castles and villages fell over themselves to throw open their gates as the crawlers approached. Some simply knelt to Zheng as her buggies pulled up, though most waited until more than a dozen people were threatening them.
Regardless, every time the kneelers did the same thing as commanded; all the men came out of their stone houses, and they made a big pile of their weapons and another for animal fodder at the place Michael or Zheng pointed out.
So far none had dared to keep a crossbow or two. They all knew what had happened at the big river battle. Ravens had been sent from Harrenhal to every castle on the way to the castle of the kneeler king. Most masters of the keeps simply begged to be allowed to hold onto their food stores. The maesterly types were saying that autumn was here, though Ygritte wasn't sure how anyone this far south could tell; it was still swelteringly hot in the middle of the day.
It's an omen of victory, Ygritte decided about the comet.
"What are you doing out there?" Michael asked from within the tent.
"Looking at the bloody comet," Ygritte responded, toothbrush still in her mouth, "What'd you think?" The Bloody Comet was a good name for it, she thought.
Michael chuckled. Clearly he hadn't even got up out of his sleeping bag yet. "I think it's an interesting rock for about five minutes," he said, "Astronomy isn't really my thing."
Ygritte blinked, confused. Astronomy wasn't an English word she had heard yet. I'll ask about it for our next lesson.
"Rock?" she asked, "It's not a rock." She peered up again, and bared her teeth as she realised the front part of the thing did look rocky if you squinted at it. Her mouth complained, the tooth paste making it feel like she had bit into a snowball.
Michael snorted. "Three or four space nerds in camp and of course they haven't shown anyone else," he said, "Ygritte, it's a big floating rock. You go up high enough in the sky and things don't fall to the ground, so the universe is just full of rocks like that flying by. As well as other suns, and other worlds. Just good luck that we're here to see that particular rock and that it hasn't hit us."
Her brushing halted as if someone had grabbed her hand, Ygritte's mind boggled. Things don't fall? Rocks flying on their own and hitting people? She wanted to call him moon-mad, but it was hard to deny such things when Michael was from another world himself. More strange things are all around me. There was no helping it.
"So it is good luck," she said, "If that showed when we had defeated the Crows or the Lannisters, there'd have been a great many babes out of it eight or nine moons after. That's how much good luck it is, Michael Duquesne."
Michael yawned loudly. "That sort of thing isn't so certain where I am from. Traditionally speaking, it depends."
"Sky omens are almost always good. It's when you can't see the stars or your rocks that the luck is bad. Means the Walkers could be near. They almost never travel 'neath an open sky, even at night."
The man sighed and stood up out of the tent, still in his light sleeping shirt and shorts. Her gaze drawn to him, Ygritte's insides stirred. Not wanting to miss her chance, she quickly spat the toothpaste out and then pressed her lips to his, standing up on her toes. Michael got particular about when she was allowed to kiss him or touch him, especially where others could see. Shit laws…
He shook with a silent laugh for a moment. "Minty," he declared.
Ygritte was pleased to hear it. "Aye, does help in the mornin'," she agreed. She didn't know how anyone could live without tooth-paste, now that she had it.
His face fell, his bright eyes staring into the sky but not at the 'rock'.
Ygritte punched his arm lightly. "Don't tell me you're goin' all mopey on me, Michael Duquesne," she said, "Kneelers throwing themselves at your feet got you sad?"
He crossed his arms and smirked again. "Well let's see," he said, "The little Lannister guy is plotting as predicted, O'Neill keeps warning me about fuel use, and the kneeler lord Tywin Lannister himself had left a reply for us at the last keep that surrendered. He ever so graciously has agreed to negotiate. But mostly it's the civilians. One second they're complaining about laundry schedules. The next, they want to ride off into the countryside to explore and try to talk to people."
The civilians seemed almost like another people to Ygritte, fearful and unquarrelsome, they were absolutely not to be feared. It was like summer and winter compared to the soldiers, who were the most deadly people that had ever walked Westeros. Michael himself could kill like breathing.
Doesn't sound like a reason to mope. Ygritte frowned to herself and shook off her brush. "What chiefs deal with," she shrugged, "Don't like it, don't be a chief." She'd be just fine being a warrior's woman, as long as he was one of renown.
The Wallbreaker was certainly that.
Michael's face brightened. "I admit, I did choose the job, yeah," he said, "Our government gave me a difficult task. I would have said impossible before I got the reply from the capital. So the little things are weighing on my mind more than they should. Things like the fact I had to release Jon from being the Crows' liaison officer just so Robb Stark didn't attempt to stop us leaving, so now we don't have a not-hostage against the Starks."
Not-hostage, ha! That was news to Ygritte. "I was wonderin' where the king of mopers and his big white wolf had gone," she snorted, "Has a woman like Val, has a child in her belly, wargs with a direwolf… I'd be happier than a Thenn with a new steel sword were I him. He still looks like some spearwife fought him off with a large fish."
Michael erupted in laughter, nodding his head rapidly. "He does, now that you mention it. He's just at that age, I guess. Guess he's lucky he's not a bad looking guy, or else people might blame him for it."
Ygritte had to agree Jon Stark was a man worth getting stolen by, though the way he treated his wife, you'd swear he'd never lain with a girl before. At his age, that would be embarrassing.
Michael cupped her face with both hands, and kissed her on the forehead before releasing her. "Never mind all that," he said, "You should be more worried about the mission Zheng's going to give you." He stretched, arms pulled up over his head. "You're late."
Mission used to be a word Michael said in the tongue of the Essosi slavers, but now Ygritte knew it in English, so the magic that allowed him to speak to her used English instead. The reminder tugged her lips at their corners. Every word she could learn brought him closer to her.
"What boring shite is Princess Zheng going to send me to do this time?" Ygritte asked, "Kneeler weapons are something someone else can heave."
That had been the boring part of the march so far. The Laughing Tree had more good steel than every other Free Folk tribe combined, and the stuff being pulled out of the castles to dump at her feet was shite compared with what the Lannister dead had given up.
"That would be telling," Michael said, before he bent down and put his arm into the tent. It returned with his pistol, and three magazines in a holster. "But you'll need this."
Pursing her lips, Ygritte took the weapon without the glee she should've had to be given a Canadian weapon once again. But her good sense returned in time to question it. If he's giving me this, then trouble is ahead. "Why?"
Michael frowned. "We're deep in enemy territory," he said, "Zheng's not sending you on an errand. It's a reconnaissance assignment. Combat is likely. I'll leave it to her to explain the details."
That sounds like useless shit. Ygritte hissed out a breath. "We've got skinchangers and your magic drones, why do I need to do reconnaissance?"
Michael yawned again. "Ask Zheng, she has the details. Go. She'll take it out of my ass if you're any later." With that, he crouched and went back into the tent.
Princess will be angry... There was nothing more to be said.
Ygritte dropped her toothbrush into the pocket of her Canadian-issue trousers, picked up her kitbag and weapons, then rushed off. She made her way down the centre path between the Canadian and Free Folk sections and ducked out between the crawlers making up a sort of outer wall.
The soldiers guarding the gap waved to her, grinning like imbeciles. And that's why Michael doesn't let me kiss him in uniform, she growled to herself, cursing that almost southron concept of military discipline. It'll be better when they've all stolen some women.
The unicorns and horses were kept outside the crawler-walls, protected and corralled inside long chains of concertina wire that was usually collected each morning before the host marched away. This time, it was still in place. The Canadians weren't going anywhere, that day. Strange.
Ignoring the smell of the animals that threatened to overpower her nose, Ygritte made it to her muster point and found most of her warriors already mounted up on their stout northern horses. The hair of most riders and mounts alike were cut roughly so they wouldn't cook in the southern heat. The women had taken to braiding their hair into long coils or tails to keep cool, as Ygritte had.
Sergeant Zheng was there too, mounted atop her own unicorn. She was sitting on its flat back cross-legged and biting into a Snickers bar like she was stripping a chicken leg of meat. Another saddled horse standing beside was riderless. Who's missing? "You're late, Corporal," she called as she chewed, with no heat whatsoever, "Late to your own mission briefing, when all your subordinates are here. Very naughty."
Gunvar, Thomer and Briya broke into smiles at that. Feeling like she was a girl in the village again, Ygritte scowled back. Michael stealing her from them was still a tale of merriment.
"Oh don't steal me, oh great and mighty Canadian," Gunvar would say in mockery every time they sat down for a meal, like they were still back in the village, "I do not want to go with you, 'cept I actually do." It was most annoying because she recognised she had been her own enemy in the whole matter.
At least they got my saddle in place. Ygritte grit her teeth and made for her own horse. "Sorry, Sergeant," she called as she stowed her bag on the horse's rump and climbed into the saddle, "Got caught up."
Zheng made a face. "If you think fucking the Captain is enough of an excuse, think again," she said in a tone the O'Neill would have described as angelic, "You're late to one of my briefings next time, and I will rip off your arms."
Ygritte glared back at her. She didn't like being treated like she had no mind at all. "I'm no fool, Sergeant," she said, "I wasn't fucking the Captain. I'm in uniform."
Impossibly dark eyes searched her for a moment. "If you say so," Zheng snorted, before continuing, "Your mission will be to scout on the flanks of our advance down the King's Road tomorrow. Ryk's group has already gone south-east. You're going south-west. There's more forest ahead than we're comfortable with, so the birds and drones can't see as much. Plus we need to rest our skinchangers, they need to spend more time as people for a while."
Ygritte pursed her lips. Skinchangers became very strange if they stayed in their animal skins too long, and the Canadians demanded much of them.
Zheng threw her a small bag with a hard shell which Ygritte caught with ease. Inside was binoculars, large ones. "Gunvar already has the route, it should be easy to follow. But if you get lost you can just go east and find the Kingsroad again."
"What if we see some kneelers looking to kill with these?" Ygritte asked, holding the binoculars bag up by its strap, "We supposed t' run away?"
Zheng clicked her tongue. "Report all encounters to us on the radio, it's why you have them. Don't bother villagers or civilians."
"Else the Wallbreaker will break your balls," Briya called.
Ygritte and everyone else roared a laugh at that. Zheng joined in, before continuing.
"Otherwise, don't get yourself into a big battle, but don't back down if you think you can take them. We can always use a few prisoners, to know who's in the area."
She waved her hand dismissively. "Sometimes the only way to know how big a problem you've got is to have a taste."
Ygritte and the rest of her company laughed heartily at that, a pleasant a sound as ever there was.
"One more thing," Zheng said, gesturing to the ground by her side, "This is Candice Deer-Slayer, she'll be going along with you to 'observe'."
Ygritte's eyebrow rose. She wasn't sure who Zheng was referring to until the most bizarre person she had ever seen walked out from behind the unicorn.
The woman had darker skin than anyone Ygritte had ever seen, with black hair tied up at the back of her head that was fluffy. Even more strangely, she stared with bright grey eyes like Jon Stark. She older than the O'Neill if a guess had to be made, and was a finger or two smaller than Ygritte, but was built much like Zheng; broad shoulders and thighs. Her clothes were colourful; dark blue trousers with a bright red shirt, a grey jacket with white stripes over the shirt opened.
And she held a shortbow like she knew how to use it, as she rattled off her name once again with even more names that were impossible to follow in between. Judging by Zheng's blank stare, the woman had been complaining to say her full name, even though it was as long as a sentinel pine. I thought Canadians wanted to just use the first piece of their names?
Baffled by the appearance of the strangest Canadian yet, Ygritte glanced at Gunvar, seeing if he could see what she was seeing. The older of her village-mates gave a quick tilt of his head. Aye, she's real. The look was also a warning to do nothing about it.
There were stories such people taking Free Folk as slaves, stealers who worshipped winged-witches from even further than the usual Essosi slavers. But they were rare enough that Ygritte had never actually met someone who had seen them with their own eyes. But she knew this Deer-Slayer couldn't be one of them, she was from another world.
Zheng pointed to Ygritte and began to speak in English to 'Candice Deer-Slayer'.
It wasn't hard to catch that she was being introduced. The Sergeant soon moved on to declare Ygritte the leader of the mission, to follow, not go off on her own and do what she said. But there were other words Ygritte couldn't understand, which made her hurt her newly-cleaned teeth as she clenched her jaw.
Aye, surely need more lessons from Michael and the Otherbane, she decided, Vocabulary. English was convenient. It had a lot of shorter words for things, even just collections of letters, but they took some learning.
The dark woman listened and gave a nod to Zheng. She understood who was in charge.
Ygritte smiled. You better understand. It didn't really explain the presence of what was clearly a civilian, though. "Why's this woman coming along?" she asked in the Common Tongue, "She's not a soldier like you."
Zheng glanced at the Deer-Slayer for a breath's turn. "Absolutely not," she smiled, "But she can ride and shoot a bow, so we're allowing it. She asked to be part of the next group to go out. Doesn't trust us, wants to see how really things work."
Ygritte's lips curled with frustration. "Has she not seen it on the ride here?" She hasn't, she didn't see the battle. She arrived after it.
"Apparently not," came the reply from the sergeant.
Meeting the grey eyes of the civilian herself, Ygritte wondered what to do about it. Of course, there was nothing to do. It was a command to take this bizarre woman. "You," Ygritte called in English, "Are you a warrior? Do you want to be warrior?"
Candice Deer-Slayer rolled her eyes and smiled. "No, but it's dangerous out here, yeah?" she said, before she rattled off another two sentences.
Ygritte winced, just barely catching the meaning. Deer-Slayer thought Michael and the others were lying, mayhaps?
With a sigh, Ygritte decided the woman wasn't serious then and there. If she wants to die in kneeler lands, that's her business. "I'll see," she replied, pointing at the woman, "So will you."
Hours later, and Ygritte was growing weary of the reconnaissance.
Two villages found, two weakly mobs of kneelers getting out pitchforks and rusty swords from wars past, two times she had ordered her riders to just go around them. There was no sign at all of Lannisters or Baratheons or any kneelers who knew the right end of a spear from the other.
These Crownlanders are no warriors, Ygritte thought as they left the last one in the dust of a gallop.
Yet the land was so rich, it made her blood boil. Huge herds of pigs roamed the woods, protected by herdsmen who did at least look like they could shoot an arrow. Between the trees, vast fields of corn and wheat grew tall and nearly-hairless cows chewed on hay. Farm houses everywhere too, though they were no more impressive than what you'd find in the True North.
They have so much, yet they do nothing to defend it, her mind whispered, Kneeling has made helpless babes of them. They deserved nothing but had everything.
Ygritte's mood was made worse by Candice Deer-Slayer, who observed each village and made comments she couldn't fully understand.
At the second village, there was a kneeler temple to their seven gods. Ygritte paid it little mind, concentrating on looking around to see if there were more than civilians around. As the people were already gathering to try and fight, Deer-Slayer wanted to go into the sept, a request Ygritte did understand but denied by grabbing the woman's reins. "We're not here to pray, She would have added 'Or to gawk at kneeler gods,' but she didn't know how to say that in English.
"I want to see," Deer-Slayer objected, though there were more words than that, the only one Ygritte caught being 'Duquesne'.
"No, dangerous!" Ygritte shouted at her in English, yanking the reins to force the woman's horse back into the group, "Would make fight. Not enemy."
The Deer-Slayer knew what that meant at least, though her tongue ran over her teeth in anger. Wanting to slap the woman with the flat of a blade, Ygritte resisted and called for the advance again. There was nothing to do if the reason for getting a sword across the face couldn't be explained. Deer-Slayer wouldn't understand why she was getting it.
In a minute, the village and its temple were behind them and out of sight, and the reconnaissance continued.
By midday they had reached the furthest point west the instructions said, and the third village appeared from around yet more woods on a hill. This one was larger and sat in the valley between the wooded hill and another with a small 'holdfast' atop it. There was a stables and another sept below the fortification's hill, for the benefit of its lord no doubt.
Ygritte was not pleased when she saw these villagers were already out of their homes and running about with weapons. "The kneelers warned the next village," she hissed, grabbing for her binoculars case, "And the road goes right through the fuckin' place." There was no easy way around this time.
"Na," Thomer objected, "Look, they're running from others." He pointed off to the south. Sure enough, there was a large group of kneelers at that end of the village. These were armed as kneeler 'men-at-arms', some on horseback.
Ygritte looked around with her binos, tracing the path of retreat from south to north.
"The village is getting raided. The clan is getting everyone up to the big stone house and its wall. The lord's not around, else he'd have rode out already."
"Looks about fifty," Briya declared, "Though it's hard to see with the houses."
"Same as us," Gunvar pointed out, with a pointed look and a smile.
Easy prey. Ygritte licked her lips. "Aye, all strung out through that village, and they don't know we're here. We'll leave the horses behind these woods with ten o' us, and come through it."
She turned her horse to do as she had commanded, and found Candice Deer-Slayer with grey skin and open eyes, staring down at the panic in the village. Don't freeze up now!
Ygritte snapped her fingers and the woman flinched out of her stupor. "Fight," she said, again in English, "You stay with horses."
Candice Deer-Slayer's face drew back in a snarl. "No, I'm coming. I'm going to see this." She added some more English.
That was not the response Ygritte had expected, but there was no time to force anyone to do what they were told. So she bit her tongue and rode back, waving her men and women to follow.
It took a few minutes for the warband to ready themselves for battle. The horses were grouped together with the remaining riders, crossbows cocked and loaded, shields unslung from saddles.
Ygritte moved her sheaf of arrows from her back to her hip, and took her longbow in hand. The weirwood immediately bled red sap over her left hand, seeping between her fingers. Yet her grip felt as sure as ever, a strangeness about the weapon she had plucked from the hands of a shattered White Walker. Fuck, don't think about that.
"Wish Sayer was here," she grunted, remembering the fight that gave her the weapon, "Or better yet, Michael Duquesne."
Gunvar grunted back. "If he was here, there'd be nothin' for us t' do."
"True."
"More like old times now," Briya said, "Not that I was alive for them." None of them had been. The Others had appeared when Briya, Ygritte and Thomer were young. The old ways of raiding ended with their arrival. You couldn't stalk a village any more, else you might get stalked by the Walkers. They had started off taking one or two at a time, to make more wights.
You're south of the Wall now, worry about the Walkers some other time.
Ygritte glanced around, and saw that everyone was ready. Even Deer-Slayer had her shortbow out, one that curved back on itself like the best of them. At least she looks ready.
She cleared her throat and activated her radio, attempting to sound as Canadian as possible. "Foxtrot, this is Weirwood," she said, "Found a warband, about fifty attacking the third village on our list. Might be Lannisters who ran away. Going t' ambush them, take some to answer questions."
Briya looked at her funny, for the way she was speaking. Ygritte threw her as rude a gesture as she could in response, causing the other woman to snort loudly.
The radio crackled in her ear for a moment, before Zheng's voice came through crisp as morning frost. "Understood. Don't get in too deep. Good hunting."
And with that, there was only one thing left to do. "We're goin'," she declared, "Swift now."
Ygritte led the way into the woods and onto the downslope at a steady run, her heart thumping harder for more than just the summer heat and her movement. No man said a word, or barely even grunted. They all knew how to approach a place without drawing attention.
She still remembered the Mountain and his men crashing into the pikes in front of her at the Bloody Ford, and the dwarf Lannister's men sweeping around the sides, killing who they could until the Canadian eruption destroyed those coming to aid them. This should not be as difficult, she told herself. It wasn't sure she believed her own thought.
Soon, they came up to the village and Ygritte called a halt silently with her fist raised over her head. Working with the Canadians for moons now, the whole warband knew what that meant. They spread out and crouched in a line, crossbows up looking for something to shoot.
The village had long houses with tall roofs, sitting on both sides of a road.
In the gaps between, Ygritte could see a few armed men running this way and that. Good, they're all spread out like too little butter on too much blackbread. She pointed Gunvar to the gap nearest on the right, Thomer to the one on the right, and Briya's archers to the roof of the house in between. She swung her arm and hand forward. The warband streamed forwards again.
Ygritte joined Gunvar's group, nocking an arrow as she stood up again. The stout man led the way with shield and sword, through the gap and onto the muddy road ahead, Ygritte right behind him.
They both nearly ran into a hooded man carrying a long war axe. He turned and revealed a half-sunken tanned face, bad teeth and sharp eyes. Before she could shoot, the axe was swiping at Gunvar, and the next moment, it looked like a hundred men more had appeared behind the man, as if from fog.
Gods, there's more of them!
The rest of her warband streamed through the gaps between the long houses, more and more of the enemy turned from the castle or slid out of doorways to join the fight.
Throat tight with the fear and surprise of what she was seeing, Ygritte raised her bow and loosed her first arrow, spearing a man through the chest with it. Deer-Slayer dithered beside her, trying to do the same.
"Shoot, you bitch!" Ygritte shouted at her, sending her second arrow but missing this time, before repeating it in English. At last, the Deer-Slayer managed to raise her bow, her hands shaking the whole time, and loosed her own arrow. It caught a man under the collarbone, sending him spinning to the ground. That finally woke the Canadian civilian up, and she stopped shaking.
We can win this. The street is narrow enough. It was funnelling everyone into the arrows.
Both of them kept shooting at targets that appeared. The fight was turning into a brawl, neither side coming together into their own battle lines, everyone facing their own opponents.
A cry came from behind. Ygritte turned. Thomer's warriors were fighting what seemed like nearly another hundred or so men, just barely holding them off. Where did they come from?!
She loosed some more arrows in that direction. The enemy hesitated, the strength and swiftness of the arrows scaring them, forcing them back into houses and around corners.
She twisted her head this way and that, counting seven of hers dead on the ground. The only one she saw felled was by warhammer, a tall man in a bull's head helm smashing one of Thomer's men across the cheek. A dozen were bleeding from as many places. Their armour had protected them from the worst of it so far, and the archers had forced the raiders to stay too close.
At last, she loosed her last arrow. Fuck. Ygritte knew at once the battle couldn't be won. Without arrows keeping them broken up, the raiders would come together and charge. "Back!" she called, "Back! We're leaving!"
Slinging her bow again, Ygritte reached for the pistol. The time had come to put the fear of the Canadians in these sons of bitches. The black, heavy thing felt like the power of the Gods in her hand, just as it had at the Last Inn. She raised it to shoot, at the biggest and meanest looking target she could spot; the bull-helmed man.
"Winterfell!" cried a young voice behind her.
What?
A searing pain erupted in her side, forcing her to turn. Ygritte found a thin shortsword piercing through her chainmail and carving into her flesh between her hip and ribs. A young boy with a mop of dirty brown hair looked up at her with grey eyes full of hatred, yanking the blade out and making to thrust again.
Fury ran up from her wound and burst from her throat. "FUCK YOU!"
Ygritte didn't know if she said it in English or Common, but it didn't matter. She jumped clear of the second attack and the pistol followed up. She squeezed off three bullets, trying and failing to track the boy as he ducked back into the gap between the houses.
The sound boomed in the close quarters of the village. Her ears rang in complaint, and her side ached. And she had not killed her target. Shit, shit, fuck.
"Everyone to the forest!" Gunvar called, repeating her order. Ygritte backed off, one hand staunching the wound and the other holding the pistol up. The sound and fury of the weapon had scared the raiders, allowing time for her own warband to get away. Not about to let them forget it, she shot down the street both ways, killing several men, before she was the last to bolt through the gap and away to the treeline.
The pain screamed across her skin with every step, but she knew it wasn't over yet. She had no intention of being hunted up the hill before she could reach the horses.
"Form shieldwall!" Ygritte called through her clenched teeth, "Briya, run and get the horses down here!"
With wide eyes, her warband slid to a halt and complied, Candice Deer-Slayer looking drained of blood and grey again as she watched the village behind. Ygritte activated her radio once again. The raiders peeked from now-open windows and around the sides of the houses, but weren't pursuing yet. They'll get nice and cozy, the fuckers.
"Foxtrot, this is Weirwood," she reported, licking her lips as her mouth went dry, "We've been pushed out of the village. There're more than fifty. More like two hundred. Looks like the raiders are going to settle in. If they're not deserters, then I'm a unicorn."
"Copy," replied Zheng at once, "Withdraw at once."
"Like I'd want to be standing 'round," Ygritte breathed in response, unable to say anything else.
Candice Deer-Slayer began unlacing the chainmail to look at the wound. Ygritte didn't have the strength to resist as alcohol was poured on her side, a bandage was put on the bloody mess and wrapped around her. She felt like she was on fire. Am I dying?
Another few minutes and the horses were led at a gallop in behind the shieldwall, and those in the back of it began mounting up. By the time Ygritte got into the saddle of her horse, she was feeling lightheaded.
Just make it back to camp. Back to Michael.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is up for an ASOIAF Fanfiction award once again, this time in the category of Best Ongoing Story.
I would be deeply grateful if you would consider voting for Canucks. Even if you don't, there are many other stories in the running among many categories.
The vote is open until December 28th, and is available on the AsoiafFanfiction Reddit