Thick smoke rose from a remote village on the snowy plains of the North.
Dozens of "bandits" came thundering in on scrawny warhorses.
They wore ragged furs, their faces smeared with strange war paint, and howled like beasts.
An agile red-haired woman rode at their head.
She wore finely crafted leather armor, her long, fiery hair blazing like a flame in the wind and snow.
"Brothers!"
Ygritte raised her longbow high, her clear, wild voice drowning out their howls.
"Those southern pansies call us bandits!"
"Then today, we'll show them what real fucking bandits look like!"
"Take all their food! Drink all their booze! Burn their miserable houses!"
"Roar!"
The wildlings cheered even more wildly, then poured into every corner of the village.
Bang!
A burly wildling kicked open the door of a wooden house and charged inside.
The house was empty, but a fire still burned in the hearth, and the stew simmering in a pot gave off a tempting aroma.
The wildling licked his lips, picked up the large pot without hesitation, and tipped it back to drink.
The scalding stew made him grimace, but he still let out a satisfied howl.
In another tent, several wildlings were "coming to blows" over a sack of flour.
They shoved and cursed at one another, scattering white flour everywhere.
Their faces and bodies were covered in white powder, making them look as ridiculous as clowns from Flea Bottom.
Ygritte sat on her horse, watching the farce she had staged with keen amusement.
She saw one wildling warrior carefully hoist a barrel of ale onto his horse, only to jostle it too hard and accidentally drop it on the ground.
Ale splashed everywhere. Nearly weeping at the waste, the wildling dropped to the ground to lick up the liquor mixed with