They set out from Castle Black, flew as far as Queenscrown, then followed the Kingsroad south.
The wind was bitterly cold up above. Ygritte lacked Viserys's special bloodline and gifts, so she had to bury her face in the cloak at his back. Only occasionally did she give in to the urge to peek out and gaze down at the lands of the North racing beneath them.
The Wall soon became a thin white scar on the distant horizon, and then the endless deep green of the Gift's forests filled their view.
They flew over Last Hearth and several small villages farther south. Below them, the land gradually changed from snowy forests to wastelands covered in frozen earth and hardy shrubs.
Ygritte saw herds of elk running across the snow below, and thin wisps of cooking smoke rising from villages. Looking down on all those living beings made her dizzy, yet fascinated her too. Once again, she experienced that feeling.
Blackflame still flew swiftly, each beat of his powerful wings carrying him a great distance forward. The Dragon Horde swept across the sky, casting enormous, terrifying shadows that raced over the ground.
Whenever they passed one of the larger settlements or a nobleman's stronghold, a commotion broke out below, with people running about in alarm. But the Dragon Horde paid no heed to anything beneath them. Their eyes seemed fixed only on the south, the direction indicated by the rider they had accepted.
Less than a day later, as the sun began sinking westward and once again stained the horizon a cold gold and red, Winterfell appeared at the edge of their vision.
At first, Winterfell was only an unremarkable gray speck on the horizon. As the Dragon Horde drew closer, its outline finally emerged, nestled against a low hill.