The Little Wolf

Self-Destruction

The Stormlands

"You have been raised by wolves, my dear knight", Kaelo was speaking at a whisper, "you have learned what many have not. You have learned the loneliness of a wolf, but the stealth of it, too."

The young Outsider was perched upon two slippery, algae-covered rocks. She jumped between the two with a sprightly step, maintaining her balance and keeping a keen eye on her prey - a clueless fish, swimming innocently in the stagnant water below. She was silent as Chief demonstrated many times on his hunts. She stalked her prey with the stillness of a wolf, but kept the watchful eye of an owl.

On occasion, her eye would catch the Monster's as it appeared in the reflection of the clear water. Its dead eyes would glare at Lyra, and reach its ghastly hand toward her. The girl would jump back, gasping in fright, losing her nimble-footed ways forthwith, causing her to plummet into the water and make a lasting ripple. The Monster would vanish, but out of the corner of her eye, she would see the dead. There was once a time, she recalled, she felt an odd companionship with them.

During the lonely days of her childhood, whether she'd be home in Winterfell or locked away in King's Landing, she would look at her surroundings before her and feel the loneliness of her life - but, the dead that lived in her peripheral vision would offer her an odd comfort. They never spoke, but if they could, Lyra, in her childhood innocence, would imagine them telling her that she was not alone.

Now, she wasn't so sure. She'd embraced the darkness willingly in nothing but a bid to survive, yet now she was so confused and torn. She had embraced the darkness unaware that in doing so she was introducing a Monster to her mind, and the damage it was doing - or could do - was debilitating.

How was she to explain such a feeling; she simply could not. Words were inadequate, and such feelings were overbearing to a girl so young. Lyra basked in her silence still, and though her mind screamed, her mouth could not form such words. It was as if she were laying down on a bed of serrated knives, each slicing through her flesh and ripping her insides to shreds. On either side of her, a different army fought a war; a harsh match of tug-of-war. Her Soul held one arm, the Monster held the other, and she could feel the agonizing pressure of feeling herself be ripped to shreds one bone, one muscle, one tendon at a time.

And she could do nothing to stop it. She had no words to speak, she had no trust to turn to Ser Kaelo by her side and allow herself to be protected. She had courage to rise, as the man had taught her, however, she didn't have the courage to trust again. Even she was an enemy to herself, a stranger to her own being.

So, she hunted.

The wolf within her howled at the moon - and it was only as she stared into the Monster's eyes, that she realised the moon within her, the moon that caused the little wolf to howl each night, was her Soul. And that, Lyra determined, was why she preferred the moon over the sun. She longed for the moon, much like a wolf, as she yearned for her Soul, like an Outsider.

In one quick movement, and a failed swish of its tail, the fish became aware of its predator and tried to flee, but the little wolf was too quick. Lyra lunged forward, makeshift spear in hand, and pierced the fish through its gills. It bled and struggled and suffered, until Lyra gave it a safe passage out of its misery. After all, death was the only mercy.

The prey was about the size of her arm, a considerable catch compared to the lean fish she had only been known to catch in the past. It was heavy and Lyra had to use all of her strength to heave its bleeding body out of the water.

Gently, Lyra tried to say a little prayer to the animal she had killed. She was praying to no one, but she had come to respect each creature, each tree and each sprout of algae as if they were each individuals worthy or respect.