The Little Wolf

Raised by the Wild

In the Wild, bordering on the Kingswood

The world was vast, and the wonders never expired. There were many lessons that a human man could not teach his children that a wolf and a Helai could. The teachers of the wild were the best to raise a child.

Lyra was learning to survive.

Lev would fly high into the tree and sing a tune of motivation to Lyra, and all the while Chief would nip at Lyra's ankles, encouraging her to climb with haste.

Lev would sit on the branch beside her, a proud white bird, and he would shake nuts he had collected in his beak to determine which was heaviest, and he would discard of the rest. Berries, too, were abundant, and Lev's natural instinct was to reject those that were poisonous. Lyra observed and noticed which colour was unsafe, and what a healthy berry looked like.

Chief would crouch down when he hunted, ensuring he was out of sight. Lyra would watch from a distance and observe her companion silently. Only when the animal was unsuspecting would Chief lunge, and he guaranteed that the animal was in no pain, and if it was, it was passing. Lyra learned something none of the cooks in Winterfell or King's Landing knew. If the prey was scared at the time of its death, the meet would be firmer. However, in ensuring the peace of the animal - hence a surprise attack - the meet was tender.

Each meal Chief would gather, he would place the meat in front of Lyra and share his meal. He would bow his head like she was his Queen, and refuse to eat. Lyra wanted to eat, but she couldn't - she knew raw meet was dangerous to ingest. And if there was something she could not do, it was make fire. No matter how how frequently Lev would place sticks, leaves and dry, dead grass in front of her, or no matter how much kindling Chief would fetch, Lyra could not make a flame.

After ages of trying and whittling at sticks, Lyra could produce only smoke, and nothing more. It seemed to her that a flame was preparing to emerge, but would go out when she came close - it was like she was made of ice, and her presence would cease any hint of heat. A curse, she deemed it. Maybe even fire was scared of her monstrous self.

Still, there were lessons to be learned, and Lyra could find other ways of eating. She would find a nest of bees, securely tucked into the hollow of a tree, and she would shove the ball of smoke she could make into the hole causing the bees to fly out, or become stunned.

She would reach her hand in, and pull out handful after handful of glorious honeycomb. The sweetness of it was unlike anything she had ever tasted. It made her gums tingle, it numbed her lips and sickened her to her stomach. Yet, it was delightful and she simply could not help but continue to indulge on its mysterious goodness.

She would collect water on drops of dew, or drink from the cleanest section of a running river - but she ensured to keep her eyes adverted. Besides being unable to make fire, she was also unable to muster up the courage to look at her reflection. A monster, she feared, would growl back. She scared herself immensely, perhaps more than she scared others.

She would then assign Lev, Chief or herself to keep watch while they chased sleep, and Lyra ran away from her nightmares. They chased her from her subconscious into her reality, and the nightmare never ended, yet she was getting used to it. She was getting used to the darkness and saw it as an ally, or third companion on her long, lonely nights.

While the Outsider had once worn her Stark honour as a badge, it was nowrusty and of no use to her. She entered the perilous night and cloaked herselfin darkness.

Often she travelled at night, sleeping only when exhaustion overwhelmed her. Not many people roamed at night, and she felt more peace than usual. It was dark and empty and lonely, but desperately beautiful.

She had always preferred the dark night and cold winter. The sun, the Outsider had grown to believe, only saw her body. The moon, however, saw her Soul. That was why she preferred the darkness of night over the light of day.

The bid for survival never ended. The daily ritual of learning, hunting, running, climbing and surviving endured through the night and into the light of the next day, and the days following.

She drew Wolf and crouched like her direwolf out of sight. She was, at last, determined to hunt for herself, by herself. It was time to prove to her mentors that she was worthy. She would return to Chief and place the food in front of him.

Crouching behind the bush, she spotted a hare. It was small, yes, but a starting point. The hare's ears pricked up at a noise and bolted. Lyra suddenly became aware of a presence behind her. Her heart both sank in reminder of who she was running from, and rattled quickly inside her chest. Ah, this feeling. This was another of those odd feelings that she had tuned out. Another feeling that had blended into the others making her unable to distinguish between them.

FEAR.

She held Wolf and tried to call to Lev silently, yet she knew it was of no use. He could not hear her. She had closed her mind, and though she knew he tried, he could not unlock the cage.

She clenched her fist around her blade and readied herself for this battle.

She spun around.

And there she saw him.

A man that made her stomach flip.

Memories ripped at her insides and pleaded to be let out, yet she concealed them deep inside her with the Monster.

She gripped the blade harder, but couldn't bring herself to attack, though she knew she should. He was dangerous and Lyra did not trust anyone.

LEV!  She bellowed to her Soul. It was in her mind, but it was so loud her insides rattled. Still, he did not come. She tried to speak out loud, she tried to call to him in reality, yet all that came out was "There is no such thing as mercy!" and "Vicious little monster" trailing quickly behind.

The man, a man she once knew but was now all but a ghost to her, looked down on her sadly.

And then he drew his sword.