The frost-bitten air stung Jon Snow's face as he adjusted the fur-lined cloak draped across his shoulders. Ghost padded silently beside him, his stark-white fur blending effortlessly with the snow-covered terrain of the North. The Wall loomed behind him, a monumental testament to his duty as a man of the Night's Watch. Yet today, duty felt distant. Jon had been sent to scout beyond the Wall with a small group of brothers, but after hours of fruitless wandering, he found himself alone, the rest of his party having gone ahead.
The silence was shattered by a faint rustling ahead. Ghost growled low in his throat, his crimson eyes narrowing. Jon's hand instinctively went to Longclaw, his sword, as he pushed through the dense thicket of trees.
That's when he saw her.
A figure crouched low beside a stream, her back to him. Her long, dark hair was woven into intricate braids that cascaded down her back, adorned with small feathers and beads. She wore a patchwork of furs and leathers, the kind only Wildlings would fashion. But it wasn't her attire that caught Jon's breath in his throat—it was the way the sunlight, dim and fleeting through the overcast sky, caught her golden eyes as she turned to face him.
"Who's there?" she demanded, rising swiftly and clutching a spear with a practiced grip. Her voice was commanding, yet feminine, with a hint of an accent Jon couldn't quite place.
Jon stepped forward, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. "I mean no harm. My name is Jon Snow, of the Night's Watch."
Her lips curled into a smirk, though her stance remained guarded. "A crow, then. And what business does a crow have this far north of the Wall?"
"I could ask you the same," Jon countered, his voice steady. Ghost emerged from the shadows then, his massive form silent but imposing. The woman's eyes flicked to the direwolf, and for a moment, her golden gaze softened.
"A direwolf," she murmured, almost to herself. "You don't see many of those anymore."
Jon took a cautious step closer. "And who might you be?"
She hesitated before replying, as if weighing whether to trust him. Finally, she lowered her spear slightly and said, "Katrina Littlefoot."
"Littlefoot?" Jon repeated, a faint note of curiosity in his tone. "I've heard of no Wildling clans by that name."
"That's because I'm no Wildling," she shot back, a touch of defiance in her voice. "Not entirely, anyway."
Jon tilted his head, intrigued. There was something about her—a fire in her eyes, a confidence in her stance—that felt unlike anyone he'd encountered. Wildlings were fierce, yes, but Katrina carried herself with a grace that hinted at a different kind of strength.
"Then what are you?" he asked softly.
Katrina's smirk returned, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "A survivor."
Before Jon could press her further, a distant horn sounded—a warning from the Wall. Katrina's expression hardened.
"Your brothers are calling you," she said. "You'd best be on your way."
"And leave you out here alone?" Jon asked, frowning.
"I've been out here alone long before you stumbled upon me," she replied. "I can take care of myself."
Jon hesitated. He knew he should turn back, return to his brothers and report what he'd found. But something about Katrina Littlefoot made it impossible to walk away. Against his better judgment, he said, "I could help you. Whatever it is you're surviving."
For the first time, her smirk gave way to a genuine smile, brief as it was. "And why would a crow help someone like me?"
Jon didn't have an answer—not one he could put into words. All he knew was that Katrina's golden eyes had stirred something in him, something he hadn't felt in a long time.
"I don't know," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I want to."
Katrina studied him for a long moment, her gaze searching his face as if trying to read his intentions. Finally, she nodded once. "Then you'd better keep up, crow."
And with that, she turned and began walking into the forest, her spear resting on her shoulder. Jon glanced at Ghost, who huffed softly, before following her.
He didn't know where Katrina Littlefoot would lead him, but for the first time in what felt like forever, Jon Snow felt as though he was exactly where he was meant to be.
If someone had told Katrina Littlefoot that her day would involve dragging a brooding crow through the wilderness, she would have laughed and kept walking. Yet here she was, with Jon Snow—serious-faced, dark-haired, and annoyingly noble—trailing behind her like a lost puppy. Well, him and his actual giant wolf.
Ghost was fine. Jon? Less so.
"You never answered my question," Jon said for the third time that hour, his voice cutting through the sound of crunching snow beneath their boots.
"And which question was that?" Katrina replied, not bothering to look back at him.
"Why are you out here? Alone?"
Katrina rolled her eyes so hard she was pretty sure the gods themselves felt it. "Why does everyone think it's impossible for a woman to survive on her own out here? Do I look like I need saving?"
Jon hesitated. "No, but—"
"Exactly." She spun on her heel to face him, her golden eyes narrowing. "So stop asking. You're giving me a headache."
Jon blinked, clearly not used to being spoken to like this. Most people probably tiptoed around him, what with his "I'm so tortured" demeanor. Not Katrina. She didn't have the patience.
"Fair enough," he muttered, looking slightly abashed. For about three seconds, there was blissful silence. Then he spoke again.
"So, where are we going?"
Katrina groaned, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "Do you ever stop talking, or is this a permanent thing?"
Jon frowned. "I was just asking—"
"Well, don't." She turned away and started walking again, muttering under her breath. "Stupid crow with his stupid questions…"
Ghost padded up beside her, his tongue lolling out in what looked suspiciously like a wolfish grin. At least one of them had a sense of humor.
Despite her irritation, Katrina couldn't help but glance over her shoulder at Jon. He was trying so hard to keep up, trudging through the snow with all the grace of a baby deer. His sword clanked against his hip with every step, and his dark eyes were scanning the trees like he expected an ambush at any moment.
"Relax," Katrina called back to him. "If something was going to kill us, it would've done it by now."
"That's not exactly comforting," Jon replied, his brow furrowing.
"It wasn't meant to be," she shot back with a smirk.
As they walked, Katrina found herself watching him more than she cared to admit. There was something endearing about his earnestness, even if it was a little exhausting. He wasn't like the other men she'd encountered—no drunken Wildling bravado, no lecherous looks or crude jokes. Just…Jon. A bit awkward, a bit stubborn, and entirely too easy to fluster.
"What's so funny?" he asked suddenly, catching her smirk.
"Nothing," she said quickly, though her tone gave her away.
Jon huffed, clearly not buying it, but he didn't press. Instead, he fell silent again, his gaze drifting to the horizon. For a moment, Katrina felt a pang of guilt. Maybe she'd been too hard on him. He didn't seem like a bad guy—just a little out of his depth.
"Hey," she said after a while, her tone softening. "Thanks for…you know. Not trying to kill me on sight."
Jon gave her a puzzled look. "Why would I kill you?"
Katrina snorted. "Because I'm not one of you. Most crows don't exactly roll out the welcome mat for people like me."
Jon's expression grew serious. "I don't see you as an enemy."
Katrina raised an eyebrow. "Careful, Snow. Say something like that in front of your brothers, and they'll have you scrubbing latrines for a week."
He actually smiled at that—a small, fleeting thing, but enough to make Katrina pause. Maybe this crow wasn't so bad after all.
"Come on," she said, quickening her pace. "We've got a long way to go before nightfall."
"Where are we going?" Jon asked again, his voice laced with exasperation.
"You'll see," Katrina replied with a mischievous grin.
She didn't know why she was letting him tag along, but she had to admit—it was kind of fun having someone to talk to. Even if that someone was a brooding, question-asking, rule-following crow.