Peril in the Snowy Mountains

The North's Hundred-Person Hunt officially began.

Brandon Stark led thirty-odd experts from his house, charging north at the head of the party. His destination was the fertile valley in the southern part of Hoarfrost Hill.

Their party was also the most comprehensively equipped-five knights and prospective knights, dozens of seasoned hunters and archers, as well as an experienced guide, sentries, cooks, servants, beast tamers...

Along with young Ned, who needed tempering, and Ghost, who was tagging along for free food.

With limited time available, Brandon decided to forgo small and medium-sized game altogether. He would head into the mountains to hunt brown bears, reindeer, or highland bison-large game weighing a thousand jin.

He had heard that mammoths also roamed Hoarfrost Hill. If they could hunt down a creature that size, they would surely win everyone's cheers.

Countless rivers and hills lay across the road to Hoarfrost Hill. The party's guide advised Brandon to take a route through the Wolfswood to the northwest, but he flatly refused.

"There are no mammoths or mountain bison in the Wolfswood, not even giant-antlered deer. What's the point of just catching bears and wolves?"

"But the Wolfswood would be more efficient. It would save time."

Brandon cut the guide off roughly. "Enough. We're going to Hoarfrost Hill." Realizing his tone had been rather harsh, he added:

"Brothers, think about it. If we can catch something as rare as a mammoth, just one would be enough to win the contest."

The hunters exchanged looks, then could only whip their horses furiously to catch up with Brandon.

The wind and snow began to pick up, but Brandon remained completely unmoved. He simply kept urging everyone to go faster.

Gradually, Ned felt as though the freezing wind was about to turn him stiff...

The blizzard struck without warning. The sky, which had still been fairly bright, darkened almost instantly, and tiny shards of ice stung their faces.

This damned weather changed at the drop of a hat.

"The storm's getting worse! We need to find shelter!" the man in front shouted at the top of his lungs.

"There's a cliff ahead! Get underneath it!!!"

The terrain here dipped into a low hollow, and the slant of the cliff face happened to shelter it from the wind and snow. Everyone led their horses underneath and began lighting fires and pitching tents.

"It'll be dark soon, and this storm won't stop anytime soon. We'll shelter here for the night." Their guide was highly experienced, an old hunter who supplied House Stark exclusively.

"Mm." Brandon's reply was stiff, his face looking as though it had been coated in paste.

No wonder. He had set out brimming with ambition to take first place, only to be brought to heel by a blizzard almost immediately.

Ned and Ghost, on the other hand, took it calmly. The two people-one of them a wolf-had already taken out dried meat and water and started eating. Ned had even thoughtfully torn the meat into strips.

Brandon turned and saw Ned feeding Ghost. His temper flared, and he immediately snapped at her, "What's the point of bringing you? We'd have been better off bringing a pig."

Ghost: ?

Why was I catching strays just lying here???

...He's definitely taking his anger out on me, right? I might be a little fat now, but I can howl.

Ghost looked at Brandon in displeasure, an involuntary growl rising in her throat.

Ned hurried to soothe Ghost and defend her. "Ghost's a wolf. She needs to eat more so she can help us chase down prey."

Brandon snorted. "Let's hope it can actually help us find some game."

Ned hastily changed the subject. "By the way, big brother, why didn't we see those two from House Bolton when we set off?"

Brandon found that rather strange himself. The gossip about House Bolton's bastard fighting Roose Bolton for the position of heir had spread throughout practically the entire North. He had heard that they had used every kind of underhanded trick, both openly and in secret, yet neither could get the better of the other.

And yet, for such an important opportunity to show their faces, House Bolton's representative was actually the captain of the household knights from the Dreadfort.

Brandon rubbed his chin, wondering what major event had happened in House Bolton lately.

One hunter eagerly chimed in. "I heard from the younger sister of my friend's wife at the Dreadfort that Old Bolton's bastard tricked that little rotten seed into Sharp Point Woods and let a wolf pack chew him up. He wasn't breathing when they carried him back."

"He didn't die." One of the Stark household knights swallowed the dry bread in his mouth with great effort, choking badly enough to gulp down several mouthfuls of water.

"That young lord didn't die. I ran into a cripple from their household while drinking at a tavern in Winterfell. A runaway slave."

"What did he say?" Smelling gossip, the burly men crowded around.

Ghost pricked up her ears too, raising the front half of her body to listen closely to the gossip. Ned could not help chuckling as he stroked her somewhat stiff back.

The knight looked rather pleased with himself, but continued without keeping them in suspense. "He was a servant who looked after the dogs at the Dreadfort. He ran away after his master was injured. He said that young lord was ambushed by Harley Snow-that bastard."

"The young lord was lucky enough to survive. They carried him back, and the maester saved him. He's been unconscious ever since."

"But the strangest thing was... guess what happened?" The knight deliberately paused, looking around the circle of eager listeners.

"Fuck!"

"Guess your mother! Spit it out."

The knight was nearly knocked over by their slaps and continued sheepishly. "Apparently, while that young lord was unconscious, he kept saying-'werwolf.'"

"What about the bastard? The one called Harley?"

"He's probably still at the Dreadfort. If the young lord dies, Old Bolton will only have his bastard left, won't he?"

Everyone talked over one another, saying one moment that House Bolton was disgraceful, and the next that the Dreadfort had always been like that. Their family's ways were so twisted they hardly seemed like northerners.

After all, northerners were straightforward and did not play at schemes and plots, much less engage in this sort of family infighting.

The knight drank deeply, his brows tightly furrowed. "But do you think that young lord might really have seen some kind of monster?"

The gossiping crowd burst into laughter, slapping the knight and jeering.

"You'd actually believe something a drunk said?"

"I think you've drunk yourself stupid!"

Brandon laughed until tears ran down his face, patting the knight's shoulder. "All right, let's thank Carol for his bedtime ghost story."

"Get some rest. A few of you can take turns keeping watch."

At the mention of a werewolf, Ned's expression shifted, and he looked toward Ghost. Ghost pretended not to notice, burying her head and feigning sleep.

Spending the night outdoors chilled them to the bone. Even wrapped in a thick blanket, Ned had to hug Ghost tightly before he felt a little better.

He whispered into Ghost's ear, "Ghost, you can understand what we're saying, can't you? Are you... um..."

Ned struggled to find the words, trying to recall that unfamiliar term. "Are you a Skinchanger? You're controlling the white wolf, aren't you?"

No, Ghost thought. Her species did not seem to have appeared in the original A Song of Ice and Fire at all. Even she did not know.

Oh well, one step at a time. She kept feeling that the Three-eyed raven might "visit her dreams" again.

Ghost playfully twitched her ears. The fine, soft fur between them tickled Ned, making him sneeze. Unable to resist his mounting drowsiness, he fell asleep.

The wind and snow gradually eased, but a thin, piercing sound like weeping arose. Ghost pricked up her ears warily.

The men on watch seemed to notice nothing amiss. One was nodding off, while the other added wood to the fire and rubbed his hands and face to warm them.

The strange sound soon vanished again. Bai Ling flicked her ears and lay back down.

The night passed without incident. At the first faint light of dawn, Brandon anxiously urged everyone to set off. The guide said an impassable stretch of snowy rock lay ahead. They could head east along Long Lake, which would spare them a great deal of trouble on the way.

Brandon refused him again. He believed climbing straight over these snowy mountain cliffs would be faster.

The others tried to persuade him further, but Brandon glared and drew his sword. "Do as I say! I'm the captain of this hunting party!"

With that, he ignored them and led his horse to the front of the party.

Several hunters exchanged looks and sighed softly, then followed helplessly. Ghost gazed at the rolling stretches of snowy rock over there, feeling that they looked somewhat familiar.

She seemed to have been here before... Moreover, she felt as though something behind them was following them from afar.

Apart from what they needed to eat, Brandon paid no attention to the small game along their route. Young and impulsive, he would listen to no one. He simply kept searching for the legendary great beasts.

The snowy mountains grew increasingly steep. They struggled to climb, and with the horses' hooves slipping too, every step became harder.

Ghost raised her head warily and looked toward the ravine. She had heard a familiar sound-the threatening growls of wolves.

Another wolf howl followed immediately, forcing the human party to stop. Ghost pawed the ground restlessly-this was the signal a wolf pack gave to gather after finding a target.

The hunters began shouting, nervously checking their surroundings. They were halfway up the mountain; if a wolf pack attacked now, casualties would inevitably be heavy.

"Warriors, draw your swords and get into formation. Archers in the inner ring. Watch those recessed rock faces overhead." Brandon issued orders methodically. Their party had more than twenty fighters and was fully equipped with weapons and bows. As long as the pack was not too large, it would pose no threat to them.

Ghost suddenly lifted her head and gave a long howl of warning. This was usually a lone wolf's signal that it was ready to fight. [Stay back, or I won't hold back.]

She did not want to see wolves killed needlessly, nor did she want to see humans die in their jaws. All she could do was try her best to threaten them and drive them away.

The movement in the mountains ceased for the moment. Everyone waited a while before relaxing. Brandon happily rubbed Ghost's head hard. "You're pretty impressive! Even wild wolves are scared of you."

Ghost's worries did not ease at all. She feared these few wolves were merely scouts. Although their party was large, they carried plenty of food. And to wolves, this many humans were a food reserve that could keep them well fed for a long time.

She took the initiative and ran to the front, following scents to guide the party. They had to leave this area as soon as possible. The old hunters knew just how powerful a wolf's sense of smell was. Without needing to be told, they all followed Ghost and quickened their pace.

Yet things did not go as they hoped. On the way down the mountain, fierce wind and snow began again. To take shelter, they had no choice but to split into several smaller groups and hide in snow caves.

It was destined to be a sleepless night.

At first, a single wolf howl rang through the mountains. Then more howls rose and fell, answering one another. The party instantly fell silent, and panic slowly spread.

The wolves had come.