The air in the mountain woods was so oppressive it could have been wrung out like a wet cloth.
Mance Rayder's expression was grimmer than the stones in the ruins of the Bloody Gate.
He stared daggers at Tormund, looking ready to skin him alive.
"I'll say it again. I only told him to give it a poke..."
Tormund's voice grew quieter and quieter, until it died entirely under Mance's murderous glare.
He knew he was in the wrong.
He really had gone a bit beyond the scope of their orders.
Lynn had ordered them to harass, to delay, to be a swarm of irritating flies.
Instead, he had gone and torn the enemy's house down.
"What do we do now?"
A Wildling leader cautiously broke the suffocating silence.
"The gate's open. We... can't really just leave, can we?"
Every gaze settled on Mance.
Going in would mean disobeying orders.
But if they didn't go in-the gate was wide open!
It felt like going to all the trouble of prying open a girl's door, only to stand on her doorstep and wish her good night without doing anything.
No matter how they looked at it, it was frustrating.
Mance drew a deep breath, forcing down his anger.
He closed his eyes, his thoughts racing.
What was the core of Lynn's strategy?
Tying down the enemy.
Their surprise force was meant to pin the Vale's main army firmly at the Bloody Gate, creating opportunities for Lynn's operation at the Eyrie and Robb's campaign in the Riverlands.
The gate was gone now, but the Vale's army was still there.
Nestor Royce's army was presumably still on its way as well.
Their mission had not ended just because a gate had fallen.
"Our mission isn't to storm the fortress."
Mance opened his eyes,