The Harsh Life in the North

At the first hint of dawn the next day, Old Bill went out to work. His wife worked just as hard, keeping busy from early in the morning.

She wore a hood and a coarse apron washed until its color had faded. She chopped wood, carried water, lit the stove, cleaned... She never stopped.

Though the little pasture was poor, everything was neat and clean, clearly thanks in no small part to her hard work.

Only after making breakfast did she quietly enter the storage room to wake Ghost.

"Arya? Time to get up for breakfast." Mrs. Bill wore a loving smile as she gently shook Ghost. She couldn't resist softly stroking her beautiful, long platinum hair.

Ghost had actually been awake for a while, but she was pretending to sleep.

When the couple had asked her name yesterday, Ghost had thought those two words sounded a little strange as a person's name. So she had simply made up a common name for herself: Arya. She had even invented a backstory about her family falling on hard times, being attacked by bandits while visiting relatives, and losing her home and family.

In the end, the couple hadn't asked at all. Perhaps they were afraid of bringing up painful memories.

Ghost pretended to wake up, opening her eyes and yawning. "Good morning, ma'am. You look well."

Mrs. Bill was delighted and felt even more certain that Ghost was some noble family's young lady. She was so adorable and elegant, and so polite.

"Oh, I'm no ma'am. Just call me Auntie Mesha."

"Are you hungry? Come have breakfast, hurry along~"

Ghost obediently climbed out of bed, held out her little hand, and took Mesha's as they walked outside.

There were only two simple portions of food on the battered, long dining table.

Two bowls of porridge that looked as though it had been overcooked and scorched in the pot. There were barely a few wilted leafy stalks in it, along with tubers boiled beyond recognition.

A wooden plate held two oval things that looked like lumps of mud... Ghost guessed they were some kind of bread.

Compared with what they had given her the previous evening, it was so much worse.

Ghost gained a better understanding of just how destitute the Bills were.

The smoked meat and sausages she had stolen earlier, and the dry bread and cheese she had eaten yesterday, were probably treats they normally couldn't bear to eat themselves.

She felt even more guilty.

Seeing Ghost stare blankly instead of eating, Mesha patted her little head. "Why aren't you eating, Arya?"

Then she blamed herself a little. "We don't have much that's good at home, so have a little for now. When the old man comes back with the money from his sale, I'll make you an apple pie, all right?"

Ghost hurriedly shook her head. "There's no need, Auntie Mesha. This is fine for me."

Afraid Mesha wouldn't believe her, Ghost picked up the bowl and gulped down the porridge.

It really did taste awful... Like a hodgepodge of week-old leftovers mixed into rice porridge. It was soft and mushy, and tasted salty and astringent.

But Ghost acted very satisfied, quickly finishing the bowl of porridge and nearly choking.

She didn't touch the things that looked like lumps of dirt.

She said happily to Mesha, "I'm full, Auntie Mesha. It tasted very good."

Mesha lovingly stroked the girl's little head. She ate the stuff every day, all year round; how could she not know what it tasted like?

The child clearly looked to be of noble birth, yet she had a good heart.

She had seen the lord of the Dreadfort and what the noble lords ate. Even the dogs the lords kept ate better than the poor: great chunks of rich, fatty meat.

Mesha still had to drive the flock to a distant grassy flat to graze. She told Ghost to be good and stay at home, and if a stranger came or something seemed wrong, to hide in the cellar and keep quiet.

Ghost nodded obediently. Mesha made her repeat the instructions twice before finally driving the flock away, looking back every few steps.

It was not until evening that the couple returned home, one after the other, after a long day of work. From a distance, they saw Ghost waiting obediently for them outside the pasture.

The couple exchanged a glance and reached some kind of understanding.

Dinner was much more plentiful. There were small pieces of dark bread and a clear vegetable broth, and Auntie Mesha had also sliced a small plate of salted meat.

Ghost had meant to let the couple eat more, but Mesha simply picked up the plate and tipped all the meat into Ghost's bowl.

An aching feeling rose in her heart, making her think of her mother for the first time in a long while.

Now that she was gone, would her mother worry?

Or would she feel relieved, glad that she no longer had to look at her disappointing daughter?

When she was little, her mother had gently told her stories and made her good things to eat. But later...

Without realizing it, Ghost's eyes reddened, but her tears refused to fall, stubbornly circling at the corners of her eyes.

Mesha and Old Bill watched Ghost with gentle gazes.

Ghost came back to herself and, embarrassed, buried her face in her bowl.

Mesha said softly, "Arya, would you like to stay?"

Ghost stared at them. Their hard, difficult lives had left the couple looking haggard and old.

But those very faces shone with a light called kindness.

"I would, Mesha."

Living conditions in the North were extremely harsh, especially in the region near the Wall.

The northern lands were barren and resources scarce. Only a very few territories could survive on fishing, hunting grounds, or the production of precious timber.

The land suitable for farming was concentrated mostly in the south and southeast, where House Stark's territory bordered the southern territories.

Old Bill's scrubby pasture, his flock, and even Old Bill himself belonged to House Bolton of the Dreadfort.

Though House Stark, the rulers of the North, had repeatedly lowered taxes in recent years, they simply couldn't stop certain local lords and nobles from privately squeezing the people.

They found all sorts of ways to plunder their subjects. Some even had their private soldiers disguise themselves as bandits to rob merchants.

Old Bill and Mesha hadn't asked Ghost why she was wandering around alone. Under the Dreadfort's cruel rule, they had long since seen plenty of commoners, and even minor nobles, driven to ruin and the loss of their families.

That was also why Old Bill had sent his twelve-year-old son to his younger brother Little Bill's family, in a sort of partial adoption.

Little Bill and his wife had no children. Though they weren't well-off either, they lived in a village near Winterfell. They had a plot of farmland of their own and two horses.

Under House Stark's rule, not only could Little Bill keep his family fed and clothed, he might even be able to help his nephew find a girl to marry.

Old Bill and Mesha felt there was no hope left for their own lives, but their son still had a chance at a good one.

Not to mention that their son had also become a menial servant attending on young Master Ned Stark.

Ghost's arrival brought a splash of color to the Bills' numb, monotonous lives. They truly wanted her to stay with them as their daughter.

Ghost could feel their sincerity, but if she stayed, the first problem she needed to solve was food. Given how much she ate, if she wanted to eat even half her fill, she would probably eat the couple out of house and home in a few days.

But before transmigrating, she had been a good-for-nothing... Her knowledge was extremely limited, and she really couldn't think of any good solution for the moment.

Alas, if only I had a space or a system...