The North's predicament and a young girl's worries

Ghost woke two days later. She found herself locked in a cage, somewhere warm but full of rank odors.

The arrow wound on her body had been properly treated and bandaged. Outside the cage stood a neat row of wooden stalls and piles of hay. Many fine, spirited horses were leisurely pacing about and eating hay.

The stable looked reasonably clean, but she could not stand the smell of the horses and sneezed several times in a row.

She vaguely remembered someone rescuing her before she passed out, but her mind had already been muddled then. She could not remember at all whether she had been in wolf form or human form...

Judging by things now, she had probably been a wolf?

The cage was spacious, with clean water and a rabbit desperately trying to shrink into a corner...

Ghost: "?"

A live rabbit? A buffet?

It seemed her life was not in danger for the moment. But there was no guarantee they were not after an intact wolf pelt.

Ghost thought uneasily, her paws unconsciously pulling the fluffy rabbit into her embrace.

The poor rabbit was stiff with fright.

She had too many secrets. Take this injury, for instance: she could already feel an itch and tingle around the wound. Even without looking, she knew it had begun to heal.

Hmm, I'll just pretend to be an ordinary little doggo and see how things go.

Footsteps gradually sounded outside, one set heavy, the other light. Then a clear, lively voice rang out:

"Olf, has it woken up? Has it eaten anything?"

"Not yet. You can go and take a look first."

Ghost felt nervous and could not help clutching the rabbit in her arms.

A cool, delicate fragrance gradually drifted around her nose. As it grew stronger, a beautiful, dashing young woman slipped through the doorway.

The girl was at the point of shedding the awkwardness of adolescence and entering the budding bloom of young womanhood. Her figure was not yet pronounced, but it was already shapely.

She was taller than most girls, a full 170 centimeters, with legs as long and straight as chopsticks. She wore a smart hunting outfit, her chest rising slightly beneath it.

Her long, dark brown hair fell smoothly down her back. Her eyes were deep-set, their gray-blue irises like translucent ice crystals. Her nose was small with a high bridge, and her lips were a pale pink.

There were even streaks of burgundy in her hair, as eye-catching as dyed highlights.

Although she had House Stark's distinctive long, pointed face, her features were lovely, and the beautiful lines of her figure looked as though they had been drawn.

Overall, she looked a great deal like Kristen, an actress Ghost had liked in her previous life-the female lead in Twilight.

Ghost stared, entranced. She adored this sort of woman, whose beauty had an aggressive edge.

Lyanna Stark, however, found the sight before her utterly amusing.

The white wolf lay on her side, her large, moist eyes wide open, while the pitiful rabbit struggled desperately between her limbs. She wagged her big tail vigorously, looking adorably dopey.

Lyanna burst out laughing. Pointing at the tail-wagging white wolf, she turned and asked, "Olf, are you sure it's a wolf?"

Olf was rather surprised. There would have been nothing unusual about this behavior in a dog. But he had clearly confirmed it with Maester Luwin: this was a genuine wolf.

But a wolf that did not eat a rabbit, and cuddled it as a toy instead? A wolf that wagged its tail?

He had never seen such a thing in his life.

Olf was getting confused too. He slowly edged toward the cage for a closer look.

The delicate scent of icy blue roses was instantly overwhelmed by the stench of animal dung and urine, nearly knocking Ghost unconscious.

Never had Ghost hated her keen sense of smell so much.

He abruptly rose, opened his jaws in a vicious snarl, and roared at Olf. But the movement pulled at his wound, and he collapsed with a yelp.

Olf jumped and hastily backed away. Lyanna laughed even more happily. "It hates you, Olf. But it likes me."

Lyanna crouched, slowly approached Ghost, and then held out a hand.

Olf went pale with fright. "Lady Lyanna, it's dangerous!"

"Shh..." Smiling, Lyanna gently approached Ghost inside the cage. "Sweet little thing, my name is Lyanna."

Ghost froze. She's Lyanna Stark? Ned Stark's sister, Jon Snow's birth mother?

Such a beautiful girl, and she only looks thirteen or fourteen. Is she going to die in less than three years?

Lyanna was certain she saw a trace of something like human emotion in Ghost's large, moist eyes.

He seemed a little sad. Was it because he was locked in a cage? She could not help soothing Ghost even more gently. "Once your wound heals, I'll let you out, all right?"

As though he understood her words, the white wolf gave a soft whimper. His muzzle slowly approached Lyanna's hand.

Olf wanted to stop her, his heart pounding, but feared startling the white wolf and causing a disaster. Sweat poured off him in his tension.

Girl and wolf gazed at one another affectionately. Ghost stuck out her tongue and licked Lyanna's hand.

Delighted, Lyanna leaned closer and gently stroked Ghost's doggy head. "Olf, look! It's so well-behaved!"

Olf breathed a sigh of relief too, doubts stirring in his mind. Could it really not be a wolf? Is it a dog?

I'd better ask the maester to check again.

Ghost was low on energy. After playing with Lyanna for a little while, she closed her eyes and fell asleep.

Lyanna said thoughtfully, "This isn't a good place for it. What do you think about moving it into my room to recover?"

Olf felt miserable. We only just moved it out of your room. Wouldn't moving it back just put people... put the wolf through more trouble?

Besides, however much this creature behaved like a dog, it was still a wolf... a wild, dangerous animal.

Eric struggled to persuade her. "My lady, its injury... perhaps you should wait a few more days before moving it?"

His gaze passed over the poor rabbit being used as a toy, and Olf had a flash of inspiration. "It doesn't seem quite like an ordinary wolf. Why don't you look in the kitchen, my lady, and see if there's any food it likes?"

Lyanna clapped her hands. "You're right. It needs to eat more." Then she ran off like the wind.

Olf wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. He could not keep Lady Lyanna in line. In all of Winterfell, only Lord Rickard and his lady could manage her.

Olf decided to go and find his lord immediately.

Lyanna ordered a kitchen boy to bring plenty of food: roast beef, black bread, roasted onions, apples, and plenty of raw chicken and other raw meat. She tried feeding each to Ghost.

Ghost was already ravenous. Seeing human food, she polished it off without ceremony.

The kitchen boy stared in surprise at the blood-streaked meat left behind. Puzzled, he asked, "Lady Lyanna, is it a dog or a wolf? I've never seen an animal that likes eating human food."

After eating and drinking her fill, Ghost went back to sleeping soundly. Lyanna, meanwhile, pondered the kitchen boy's words with a strange expression.

Whether it's a wolf or a dog, is it really an animal? Is it an it? Or a she?

Back in her room, Lyanna was still considering the question. That cry for help kept replaying in her mind as she recalled what had happened.

"Lyanna..." A deep voice interrupted her thoughts. It was her father, Rickard.

Rickard Stark wore a heavy bearskin cloak over an old padded jacket sewn from soft animal hide and wool.

"Olf told me you've already tamed that white wolf. Very good." He said with satisfaction, "That's my daughter."

Lyanna stared at Rickard Stark's face, weathered by the North's wind and frost, and suddenly realized that the father who had always been tall and unyielding in her memories was beginning to look old.

"Papa..." Lyanna asked hesitantly, "Do I really have to marry Robert Baratheon?"

Rickard sighed inwardly. Though bleak and vast, the North was far removed from the treacherous south, with its deceit and scheming. His children had all been raised well.

Integrity, honor, courage... these were all fine virtues. But, like their father, they all lacked a sound understanding of the continent's situation.

Even he had only seen the truth after his close friend, Jon Arryn, Lord of the Vale, opened his eyes.

If the North could remain uninvolved, far from the whirlpool of power, he could safely let his daughter find a husband she liked. He could let Ned roam the world freely with a sword, becoming a heroic swordsman celebrated by bards.

And with his valor and House Stark's prestige, Brandon could fulfill the role of Lord of the North and protect his family and lands well.

But Westeros was growing ever more dangerous and chaotic.

The young dragon prince was gradually coming into his own. He would no longer be content to lie low beneath the old king... He was waiting for his opportunity, gathering strength.

Since the Defiance of Duskendale, King Aerys had grown increasingly incompetent and mad. People could hardly wait to see their beloved prince take the Iron Throne.

But would King Aerys sit back and watch the young dragon prince grow ever stronger and ascend the throne without difficulty?

The Lannisters, the Spider, the Queen of Thorns... and those young, vigorous, ambitious people-would they allow the North to remain uninvolved?

Rickard sank deep into thought...

Seeing her father lost in thought and silent for so long, Lyanna unhappily buried herself beneath her covers.

Rickard came back to himself. In the end, he did not mention these matters, which were too heavy for her to bear. He merely urged her to look on the bright side.

Although Robert Baratheon was a little fickle in love, he was a loyal, brave knight skilled in battle, and his character could be trusted. As for his somewhat lacking ability to manage his lands, she could help him, could she not?

Lyanna only kept her head beneath the covers, thinking resentfully, You don't understand at all.

Rickard said a little more about House Baratheon and the Stormlands, but Lyanna never responded. He could only tuck the covers around his daughter and leave.

Lyanna thought again of her dream. No matter how she considered it, she did not believe that person was Robert, that big oaf.

But she was also at a loss. Although there were boys in their lands who secretly admired her, she had never met anyone who made her heart flutter. What could she do besides marry the match her father had chosen?

Beneath Winterfell lay not only the ancestral tombs of House Stark, but also many precious documents and secret texts dating back a thousand years.

With Lord Rickard's permission, Maester Luwin had already spent two days immersed in the documents in the underground storeroom.

His young apprentices had long since collapsed on the floor from exhaustion and were sleeping soundly.

Only when he reached records from two thousand years ago did Maester Luwin discover a few clues.

Records from over a thousand years ago concerning the Children of the Forest, nature magic, and Skinchangers...

And the Wolf Spirit King and the power of the Old Gods.