The fleeing young wolf and the winter rose

Roose Bolton, the younger brother who regarded him as a thorn in his side, the rightful heir to the Dreadfort.

Despite all his precautions, his brother had found an opening after all. Harley knew he was probably destined to die here today. Thankfully, he had not acted rashly earlier...

Run, little wolf... run far away. This isn't so bad, either. Before he died, he would take Roose down with him.

Blood spilled from Harley's mouth as he said haltingly, "Well, if it isn't... Little Roose. In the mood... for a hunt?"

Roose planted his foot on Harley's face, slowly grinding his head into the dirt. He spat. "Bastard. Still talking tough when you're about to die."

Harley raised his head with difficulty and panted, "Spare me, and I'll tell you the secret of the Skinchangers. How about it?"

Roose looked tempted, but asked suspiciously, "Skinchangers?" He glanced in the direction Ghost had fled. "You mean that wolf that changed from a human?"

"Yes. Don't you want to know why she can transform? In the Wolfswood..." Harley's voice grew fainter and fainter, as though he might die at any moment.

Roose had to bend closer, grabbing Harley's collar and shaking him. "What's in the Wolfswood? Tell me!"

This angle-my chance!

Harley's hand, hidden beneath the rotting leaves and vegetation, suddenly yanked the mechanism he had prepared in advance, rigged with fishing line. In an instant, a crossbow bolt a full two arms long shot out from an unexpected angle, skimming diagonally along the ground...

With a wet puncturing sound, it punched through flesh as though it were paper. Roose collapsed without even having time to scream.

It all happened too quickly. Every one of his men froze, until Harley's gleeful, coughing laughter broke the deathly silence.

"Fuck! Save the young lord!"

"Two of you, go after the wolf. It can't have gone far!"

"Back to the castle! Get the maester!"

"Seven Hells! If he dies, we're finished too."

Numbness gradually spread from Ghost's limbs through her whole body. Her body grew heavier and heavier, and even her vision began to blur.

She could already faintly hear dogs barking and hunters shouting. She might not get away.

Desolation filled Ghost's heart. Uncle Bill and Aunt Mesha were probably in grave danger. Remembering how they had cared for her sent pangs through her heart.

The flayed man's family had called themselves the Red Kings in ancient times. They were the cruelest, most tyrannical house in the North. Their house words were: "A dead man has no secrets."

Perhaps dying like this to atone to them would be just as well.

She could barely run anymore, and the world before her eyes began to sway... How will I die? Will I be able to return to the modern world after I die?

Maybe they'll skin me whole and cut off my tail, then make me into a wolfskin cloak or a scarf...

Ah, it'll definitely be warm.

In the six months since she had transmigrated into the world of Ice and Fire, once the initial excitement and novelty had faded, Ghost had faced the North's cold and desolation head-on. Days of hunger and cold had once made her want to flee and give up.

She was not the sort of decisive person who bravely faced challenges. Whenever she encountered difficulties, her instinct was always to escape and give up.

Thinking back, she had been the same in her previous life, doing basic, simple work and watching her colleagues get promotions and raises. She herself had muddled through her days...

Had it not been for her optimistic, salted-fish personality and a little good luck, and for meeting Mesha and Bill, who had taken her in... she probably would have died alone in some corner of the North long ago.

Now she was about to die, and she had dragged two good people down with her. The world was so vast, yet she had no home and no one to turn to... Huh?

In the sky at the center of her vision, a long-tailed shooting star streaked diagonally past, as though someone had drawn a golden highlighter across a deep, dark canvas.

The shooting star was reflected in Ghost's emerald eyes. Somehow, she had a feeling: in that direction... something was waiting for her.

That's right, this is the world of Ice and Fire. There's magic, and there are Others. There'll even be three dragons to see in the future... How can I die here like this!

I have to see the Mother of Dragons and Drogo get their happily ever after. She did not want to see the Mother of Dragons holding Drogo and weeping!

Ghost turned her head, bit down on the arrowhead at her shoulder, and yanked hard. She was close to losing consciousness, and this arrow was too much of a hindrance...

It hurts... it hurts so much! Even breaking a bone and getting stitches in my last life didn't hurt this badly.

But the pain jolted her awake, clearing her vision considerably. She ran toward where the shooting star had fallen.

Lyanna Stark furiously swung her axe, hacking at the wood before her as though it were that detestable man.

A camping tent had been pitched nearby, and two tall horses leisurely grazed beside it.

Splintered wood flew everywhere, nearly striking Layson Karstark in the face.

The poor knight serving as her escort had to move farther away. Helplessly, he tried to reason with her. "Lyanna, Lord Robert... probably didn't mean it."

Lyanna buried the axe in the chopping block with a thunk. She said angrily:

"Are you my relative or his? Just look at what he wrote in his letter. It's enough to make me sick."

"All that... 'You're my favorite girl. Marrying you is like a dream. Although I'm a man of many affections, I'll try to save an important place in my heart for you...'"

"Ugh!"

The angry girl's face was animated. Frowning, she put one hand on her hip and leaned on the axe with the other. "Even the old women feeding chickens in the Stormlands have heard about his affairs, and he still has the nerve to write me a letter like this."

"Disgusting!"

Lyanna indignantly repeated the rubbish in Robert Baratheon's letter, while Layson Karstark did not know whether to laugh or cry. "Lyanna, don't use crude language."

He could hardly offer advice on something as momentous as a marriage alliance. This was his lord's decision.

Duke Rickard Stark, lord of the North, was as unyielding as stone. No one could change his mind.

He changed the subject. "Let's head back at dawn, shall we? His lordship and her ladyship must be getting worried."

Lyanna said nothing. Sitting cross-legged before the fire, she concentrated on wiping her longsword with an oiled piece of leather.

"Lady Lyanna!"

"I'm going to hunt a few ermines for some good pelts, to make new boots for Ned and Benjen."

The warm, bright firelight shone on Lyanna's fair face, softening her bold features a little.

Fourteen-year-old Lyanna Stark had long, soft, tawny hair with strands of burgundy mixed in. It looked naturally dyed, giving her a distinctive, very attractive appearance.

She had gray-blue eyes. Whenever you gazed into them, it was like looking into a crisp, cold lake in the North-clear and luminous as ice, almost capable of reflecting your soul.

She was a wild, energetic girl, and few could rival her riding skills. Of course, it would have been even better if she tidied up those thick eyebrows she deliberately drew into charcoal bars!

Lyanna suddenly frowned and stopped what she was doing. "Layson, did you hear something?"

Layson's expression turned serious. He slowly drew his sword and nodded to Lyanna, then pointed in a direction.

The two raised their swords and slowly approached the source of the sound.

The sound grew clearer. It seemed to be a cry for help...

"...help."

"Help... someone, please help me."

Lyanna shot Layson a startled look, then charged forward. "It's a child's voice!"

"Wait..." Before Layson could stop her, Lyanna had already rushed off.

She was far too reckless. Who knew whether that voice belonged to a human or something else?

Layson could not help thinking of the Others and monsters in old women's tales. Suddenly jumpy and unnerved, he called, "Wait for me, Lyanna!"

Up ahead, Lyanna suddenly stopped. Layson caught up and asked, "What's wrong? What did you see?"

"Gods, it's a snow wolf!"

With a strange expression, Lyanna pointed at Ghost, lying unconscious on the ground, as though she were sleepwalking. "She... she turned into a wolf."

Layson said, "What?"

Lyanna swallowed and explained with difficulty, "I think I saw a little girl just now, and then she turned into this."

Layson said, "Are you feverish? Dizzy?"

"I really heard and saw her! Didn't you hear a child calling for help?"

Layson's face gradually paled. His eyes darted about, and he stammered, "Actually, I... I only heard the wind."

The snow-white wolf seemed badly injured. Her forelegs were a bloody mess, and several arrows still protruded from her back. The pristine snow behind her was dotted with red.

Lyanna was certain that what she had seen and heard had not been a hallucination, and wanted to take this beautiful wolf back to the tent.

Layson, however, worried that the wolf would bring danger and thought killing her would be best. In the end, he could not prevail over Lyanna, and they took the white wolf back for treatment.

House Bolton's pursuers, meanwhile, encountered an unexpected ambush.

They followed the trail of blood, but their dogs suddenly began whimpering and circling. No matter how they beat them, they refused to take another step forward.

Then, deep within the dark forest, round eyes glowing red lit up one after another.

A black wolf with somewhat uneven fur, but exceptionally cold eyes, slowly strolled out of the forest.