Beyond it, the Haunted Forest stood silent, crooked pines clawing at the low clouds.

The snow here was deep, untouched, crunching underfoot with every step.

You had been tracking him for a mile.

He was alone. No ranger’s black cloak, no party. Just a young man in furs, moving with the careful tread of someone who did not belong.

A Stark, by the look of him. The grey wolf sigil stitched into his cloak told you that much.

He stopped.

You could see him scanning the treeline, hand drifting to the sword at his hip. He knew he was being watched.