Harley Snow's revenge

Inside the Dreadfort.

Harley Snow leaned against a wall with his arms folded, watching the beasts milling around the kennels with considerable interest.

There was plenty of meat in the dog bowls, but the hounds merely sniffed it without touching any. The servant cleaning the kennels muttered in bewilderment, "Strange. Why won't these beasts eat even when there's meat?"

The servant in charge of the kennel keys beamed obsequiously. "Going hunting today, Lord Harley? Which one would you like to take?"

Looking bored, Harley pointed at one of them. "Bring Little Roose out. I'm taking him for a walk."

The servant's ingratiating smile did not falter. He swiftly led out a tawny hound, handed Harley the leash, and gave the dog's head a hearty pat.

"What a sharp eye you have, Lord Harley. This one... Little Roose is the fiercest of the lot."

Harley gave the servant a meaningful look, then swung into the saddle and galloped out of the castle with the dog.

Several people had been lurking in the shadows, peering about. After Harley left the castle, two split off to follow him, while the others turned and entered the inner castle.

The North was vast. Riding due west from the Dreadfort, it took two or three days to come within sight of Winterfell. Riding northwest from Winterfell would then bring one into the Wolfswood, a forest notorious for its dangers.

The Wolfswood covered an immense area, encompassing all the northern and western reaches of House Stark's lands.

Deep in the Wolfswood, dark mountain ranges stretched on and on, their treacherous terrain joining Hoarfrost Hill to the northwest. Every hunter who dared venture deep into the Wolfswood never returned, and northerners paled at its very mention.

Some said the bloodline of an ancient giant wolf king survived deep in the Wolfswood. The wolves here were so damned clever that hunters sometimes could not tell who was hunting whom.

Others said something utterly terrifying lurked deep in the Wolfswood... but those were merely frightening legends passed down by old grandmothers.

The Wolfswood was rich in game and resources, with mines in the mountains deep within it. More than half of Winterfell's food came from there.

In his youth, Harley's foster father had been bold yet meticulous. He had hunted in the Wolfswood for a living all his life, losing a leg and several fingers along the way. The pelts of the wolves and bears he had killed could supposedly cover the entire floor of the Dreadfort's great hall.

Such an experienced old hunter had not been conquered by winter or wild beasts, yet a mere cup of ale had killed him in a tavern.

Harley Snow galloped for days with only his horse and dog. After a brief stop in Winterfell to replenish his supplies, he ventured into the Wolfswood through the wind and snow.

At last, he stopped beneath a huge tree so thick that it would take six people joining hands to encircle it.

High on the trunk, crooked, distorted lettering could just be made out-"Yirgen and Harley's home."

Harley dismounted and tethered the horse and dog. He quietly and warily checked the surroundings, returning only after confirming that nothing was amiss.

He bent down, opened a door disguised with bark, and crawled beneath the ironwood's roots.

The space beneath the tree had been hollowed out and converted into a hunter's hut filled with odds and ends. Hunting tools, axes, buckets, and other miscellaneous items lay piled inside... pelts and dried meat hung overhead.

Stones formed a circle on the ground, with partially burned wood in the pit and a small pot hanging from an iron frame.

Harley sat on the ground and lit a fire, then pulled a leather flask from inside his clothes and gulped from it.

His gaze remained fixed on the wall, where a massive crossbow as tall as a man hung-restricted weaponry he had secretly acquired at enormous expense from a smuggler in White Harbor.

Once its steel string was drawn taut with the windlass, this enormous crossbow could easily punch through House Lannister's floating-steel plate armor, the finest on the continent. It was several times more powerful than an ordinary hunting crossbow.

Whether killing wolves or people... it was as easy as tearing paper.

Harley's gaze went vacant, a murky light flickering in his eyes.

Come, little dogs. This is the burial ground prepared for you.

After night fell, Ghost sneaked out again.

On the way, she casually dug up a few nests of field mice to feed the wounded wolf.

When she arrived, she found the black wolf still unconscious, though his wounds had stopped bleeding. All she could do now was wait. I hope you're lucky enough to survive.

Ghost felt somewhat regretful. She herself did not know what had happened then. Something had set her off, bringing back some unpleasant memories, and then...

In truth, some things from her previous life had gradually faded from her memory. Everything she could still remember had left a profound mark on her...

Ghost stared blankly at the ground, pinning down a field mouse beside her that had stopped playing dead and was trying to escape.

She batted it back and forth with her paw, teasing it until it squeaked frantically.

"Spare the poor little thing. How about I find it a home?"

A feeble voice sounded in her mind. The black wolf had woken up.

Ghost happily moved closer. "You're awake! A home for the mouse? Where...?"

His wounds hurt terribly, and the black wolf gave two aggrieved howls, hoarse and weak. "You're one vicious she-wolf... If you didn't want to mate, you could've just refused. You didn't have to try to bite me to death. Still, whoever has pups with you in the future will have something special. They'll definitely be kings of the pack..."

With that, he opened his jaws wide, signaling for Ghost to toss the mouse in and feed him.

Speechless, Ghost irritably tossed the field mouse into his mouth.

The black wolf chewed contentedly. He tried to shift his body, only to discover that he could not move at all. He lowered his head:

"Awoo??" His wolf eyes widened as though he were questioning his entire existence. "H-how did you tie me up? That's amazing!"

Ghost could not resist retorting, "Wouldn't the normal question be-why did I tie you up?"

The black wolf shook his head. "Right... Then why did you tie me up?"

Ghost... helplessly changed the subject. "I'll change your bandages first. They're soaked through with blood. If you're hungry, then..."

She turned to look. The field mice had all fled long ago...

The black wolf blinked.

"Then... you'll just have to stay hungry for now."

The black wolf refused to accept that, howling straight into Ghost's head. "You're abusing me! You're trying to starve me to death so you can eat me, aren't you? Awoooo! Awoo, awoo, awoo!"

Ghost thought, Is it still too late to throw him away? Sighing, she went outside...

The black wolf restlessly tore at the bindings around his waist, belly, and legs, which had been wrapped up like a mummy. Suddenly, a tiny human cub walked in through the door.

The black wolf was a little dumbfounded, then began screaming frantically for help inside Ghost's head like a pig being slaughtered. "Awoo, awoo, awoo! A human!! Help! Help! A human's here!"

Ghost pressed hard against her ears, but nothing could block that demonic racket. The noise made her head feel ready to burst.

She simply picked up a rock from the ground and, before the black wolf's despairing eyes, brought it down...

The black wolf promptly passed out.

Fucking hell... finally, some quiet.

There was no way to work in a wolf's body, so Ghost had no choice but to irritably turn human in front of the black wolf.

She changed the bandages on his wounds, then went out and dug up some edible roots, insect nests, and the like. She casually tossed them to one side and left them alone.

On the way back, Ghost suddenly thought of a way to make money without much effort.

It was thanks to a female colleague from eastern China in her previous life, who had told her about many local delicacies, including grilled field mice.

Field mice were the most plentiful creatures here. They bred extremely quickly and had few natural predators. There were enough of them to play whack-a-mole.

Field mice were a good source of protein in lean years. Although Ghost did not eat them herself, that would not stop her from grilling them to sell.

Grilling was something Ghost was good at.

As for anything else, she had no good ideas for the moment. Perhaps she could try making street food first?

While Ghost leisurely and obliviously enjoyed her rustic country life, Harley Snow finished preparing his hunting ground.

Though he felt somewhat sorry toward Old Bill's family, he could wait no longer. Roose Bolton would soon discover his target.

As the Dreadfort lord's trueborn son, Roose had many supporters. If Harley wanted to eliminate him without leaving himself any future worries or attracting suspicion, he could only do it during the Hundred-Person Hunt.

And if he wanted to command House Bolton's elite soldiers during the Hundred-Person Hunt and engineer an accident, he first had to secure Old Bolton's appointment.

He would bring this not-yet-grown Skinchanger before Old Bolton, alive and intact.

Then...

Harley Snow gently stroked a small drum wrapped in yellowed leather and said softly:

"You damned old man. I'll avenge you..."