"Why are you sighing?"
Ygritte's voice was barely above a whisper, like a kitten's claws scratching at his heart, with a hint of displeasure.
"Afraid I'll leave you... unable to lift your sword tomorrow?"
Lynn opened his eyes. In the faint glow of the fireplace, he saw her eyes shining astonishingly bright in the darkness.
"I'm afraid you'll shove Arya out of bed if you keep wriggling around."
"If Arya wakes up from falling and finds you here, don't you think you'll be in trouble?"
Lynn spoke irritably as he tugged the covers toward the soundly sleeping Arya.
"Tch. Stingy."
Ygritte pursed her lips, but obediently shifted back toward her side, leaving a little space in the middle.
The room fell quiet again, with only the occasional soft crackle of charcoal in the fireplace and Arya's steady, drawn-out breathing.
The peace didn't last long.
Lynn felt Ygritte roll over beside him to face him.
"Lynn."
"Hmm?"
"Do you think... people die in battles?"
Hearing that question from the fearless Ygritte caught Lynn by surprise.
He turned his head and saw that her usual teasing, uninhibited gaze had vanished, replaced by a mixture of confusion and fear.
It was the first time Lynn had ever seen that expression on Ygritte's face.
"Of course."
"People always die in battles."
Lynn answered honestly.
"Oh."
Ygritte fell silent.
She buried her face in the soft pillow, her voice coming out muffled.
"I never used to fear death."
"Beyond the Wall, anyone who lives to my age has done well."
"When you go to sleep, you don't know if you'll see the sun tomorrow."
"If you die, you die. You rot in the snow and get eaten by beasts. It's a way of returning to nature."
"But now..."
An almost imperceptible tremor entered her voice.