The Little Wolf

Running Without Ceasing

The Kingswood

Her mind was closed and so were her eyes. She ran without ceasing, and by her side, her wolf did the same. Chief panted slightly, and when Lyra tuned back into her surroundings, she noticed his red and white paws were smothered in blood, scathed from padding along quickly on the rocks and unearthed roots in the Kingswood. He was determined, like his human, to escape and be free.

King's Landing was merely a speck on the horizon, but Lyra and her companions refused to stop running. Her feet were a bloody mess, and blood and mud oozed through her toes within her scuffed and tattered boots. The boots had been in fine condition when she had stolen them from the fat boy's corpse, but they were now so perforated, blood dribbled out and left a red trail on the ground behind her.

She looked to the sky above, but Lev was nowhere to be seen. He had not left her, yet he had stopped speaking to her. She tried to open her mind, but it was closed to conceal the monster. It was a defence mechanism, a way to not only protect herself, but an attempt at protecting others.

Running.

That is all she could think to do. Run far away from the Hell she had gotten so used to. She pushed herself through the pain, and focused on the seclusion of the forest. She looked behind her as she ran and noticed King's Landing, even the highest spire of the tallest tower, was completely out of sight now.

It was only then that she truly felt free. Her freedom hit her suddenly, but so did the realisation that she had no idea how to survive in the forest. She had no idea how to do any of it. Yet, she would learn to live this way, she would embrace this new normal the way she had embraced the many old normal's that had been and gone.

Lyra collapsed on her weak knees and sank to the ground, wincing at the sting in her feet, and the ache of her legs. She drew wolf and cut some of her shirt off and binded her broken shoes with the cloth to plug the many tattered holes. Her throat and lips were dry and her tongue stuck to the roof of mouth, due to the lack of moisture. It was only now she noticed how much her feet hurt, how much the entirety of her little body ached, and how terribly thirsty she was.

By her side, Chief yowled in hunger, before looking up and growling angrily at something up a tree above him. Lyra, too, looked up, where she saw a little white bird cracking nuts with its beak. He had gathered food for himself, and he was now chirping encouragement for his companions to do the same.

Chief pricked his ears in the air in recognition of a noise, and crouched down so he was out of sight behind tufts of dying grass. He growled softly and crept forward. This was new to him. He had been imprisoned at only several months old, and never got the chance to learn to hunt as Lyra had hoped. During their days at Winterfell, Lyra would nick food from the kitchen and hand feed him, thinking she was being sweet to offer him food. All she had done was denied him of his species natural instinct – to hunt like a wolf.

Suddenly, he pounced and after a little bit of a struggle he sank his fangs into his prey. It was only a rabbit, but a starting point. Lyra felt her stomach twist and disgust creep in. It had always bothered, since before she could remember, that she were eating animals unsure whether or not they were really Outsider's Souls. How would commonfolk know that the suckling pig on their table wasn't truthfully someone's Soul? The Outsider looked to the sky above and saw a little nod from Lev – it was okay, this was just an animal. Sure, it undoubtedly had a soul, but it wasn't somebody's Soul.

Chief, deceased rabbit in mouth, turned around, his tail wagging happily. At the look of his master, his happiness changed to an odd sadness. He padded forward and placed the dead rabbit in front of her, and gently bowed his head. He wanted her to have it, despite it being rightfully his.

We will share, Lyra tried to say, but all it came out as was "there is no such thing as mercy". Lyra looked shocked, and so did Chief. Again, she tried.

We will share, her mind screamed, yet the words that sounded in the ears of her companions were the same two phrases she had been beaten into saying – "Vicious little monster" and "there is no such thing as mercy".

Chief sank his pale eyes to the ground and his tail twitched slightly before ceasing its merry dance altogether. Lev soared from his high branch in the tree and landed on a branch lower down, before bowing slightly and flying off through the clearing.

Chief picked up the dead rabbit and carried in closer to Lyra before nudging it with his nose. She knew no words could express what she wanted to say, so instead she leaned forward and rested her head against his chest wall, until she could feel the heavy beat of his heart. He had a big heart. Animals were truly more affectionate and compassionate than all the humans in the world.

Soon enough, Lev returned with bits of twig and bark and dead grass bundled together in his beak. He dropped it on the ground beside Lyra and the dead rabbit and nodded at it, before looking at Lyra and nodding again.

A nest? She wondered. Lev stared at her and urged her to think.

Shelter? She thought again. Her Soul continued to stare at her quizzically, until finally she knew what was happening. He was teaching her.

He wanted her to make a fire. Like her old Maester before her, Lev and Chief had become her teachers.

She had never made a fire before, she never needed too. She had watched maids light the fireplace in her room at Winterfell before, but never thought she would have to learn to do so herself. The first step she knew was she needed two pieces of wood - sticks, as they were abundant, would be fine.

Lyra stared, utterly clueless, at the sticks and pile of leaves and twigs before her, and suddenly became so overwhelmed she wanted to scream. Lev tried to pick up the leaves and drop them again in front of her, but his voice was absent. There was no one there to tell her, no one there to teach her, no one there to guide her through this nightmarish hell she had found herself lost in the moment she left the North.

She ran through the clearing, ignoring the pain in her feet, the tears streaking down her face, brown with dried mud, and the scampers of her companions behind her.

She just ran. Running was all she knew to do now.

Night would soon be upon them - her second night in the danger of the forest. The first night, despite a few breaks to catch her breath, Lyra journeyed forth, walking slowly and using her hands to feel if she were to bump into anything. Now, she was just too tired and hungry and thirsty to do any of it again.

She ran and cried and howled at the first sight of the moon peaking up over the tops of the forest. Chief had caught up with her and bored his pale eyes into her. Just as she and Chief made eye contact, her feet were met with icy goodness. Before she had the chance to look, she felt instant relief. It rushed through her tattered boots, oozed through her toes and swelled to her ankles.

Chief frolicked happily, before sticking his long tongue out and lapping it up, barking happily for his companion to join.

Water! She cried to herself. She plunged her face into the glory of it and swallowed mouthful after mouthful until she could feel her stomach fill. Her cracked lips cried in happiness and her throat was smooth once again.

There was some goodness left in the world. And it was glorious.