The fire had died down to a bitter gray ash by the time the vibrations reached me. It wasn't a sound at first, but a rhythmic thumping through the earth that didn't belong to the wind or the trees.Rather Hooves, heavy ones.
I woke slowly, my new body still feeling like a suit that was a size too small. I pushed myself up, shaking the damp needles from my fur. The awkwardness of four legs was still there, but the second day felt better than the first. My brain was starting to accept the new hardware, even if my ego hadn't.
I didn't rush toward the sound. In the world I came from, you called for help. In this one, you stayed in the shadows until you are sure you will be okay.
I kept low, my stomach nearly brushing the wet dirt as I moved through the brush. And I could already smell the leather of the saddles, the salt of human sweat, and blood.
I eased up to a ridge and looked down.
The scene was straight out of an episode I remember. A massive stag lay tangled in the roots of an ironwood tree, its guts spilled across the frost. A few yards away was the wolf. She was the size of a pony, her fur matted with dark gore, a jagged piece of antler still buried in her throat.
And there are Men in heavy wool cloaks stood around the carcass. I recognized the one in the center immediately, Eddard Stark. He didn't just look like a character from a TV show; he looked like a man who hadn't slept well in a decade, his face etched with a gravity that didn't need a script.
I watched from the ridge as they found the pups. The mood shifted. The sad reality of the dead mother was replaced by the frantic, high-pitched whimpering of five small brats. Then, the sixth, the white one. The outsider.
"You will train them yourselves," Ned's voice carried through the trees, hard and final. "You will feed them yourselves. And if they die, you will bury them yourselves."
The decision was made. They were leaving.
I had a choice. I could stay in these woods and hope my Ember was enough to keep my death away, or I could gamble on the only man in this world who took "honor" seriously.
I stepped out from the treeline.
…
I didn't run. I walked at a steady, deliberate pace. I wanted them to see I wasn't a wild animal looking for a meal.
The reaction was quick,. Jory and the others had their swords halfway out before I'd even cleared the brush.
"What in the hells is that?" someone muttered.
"Look at the color of it," another added, reaching for a bow. "A freak. Let me put an arrow in it, My Lord."
I didn't stop. I walked right past the dead direwolf, ignoring the smell of rot, and stopped ten feet in front of Ned Stark. I sat back on my haunches. I didn't growl. I didn't bark. I just looked him in the eye, trying to project a level of "human" awareness that didn't belong in a dog's head.
Ned stayed on his horse, his reins pulled tight. He studied me with a focus that made me feel like he was looking through my flesh and into my soul.
"He isn't afraid, Father," Bran whispered from his pony.
"He isn't a wolf," Robb noted, his hand still in his sword hilt.
Ned dismounted. He walked toward me, his heavy boots crunching in the snow. He stopped just out of reach and lowered himself to one knee, extending a gloved hand. He wasn't rushing. He was giving me the chance to bite or flee.
I met him halfway. I leaned in and pressed my forehead against his palm.
He froze. I felt his fingers twitch against my fur, then tighten slightly as he felt the sheer heat radiating from my skin. To a man living in a frozen wasteland, I must have felt like a living coal.
"He's warm," Ned said, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "Warmer than any beast I've ever touched."
"Can we keep him?" Bran asked.
Ned stood back up, looking at the empty forest behind me as if searching for a mother that didn't exist. "A lone hound in the Wolfswood," he said to himself. "The winter is coming. He wouldn't last a night."
He looked at Jory. "Find a place for him in the wagon. If he stays quiet, he comes to Winterfell. If he bites, throw him back to the woods."
I didn't wait for Jory to lead me. I turned and walked straight to the supply wagon, leaping into the back with a certainty that surprised even me. I settled onto a pile of rough furs and stayed still.
The wagon began to move, the wheels groaning against the frozen ruts of the road. I watched the trees of the Wolfswood recede, the blue light of the system flickering at the edge of my vision.
[Level: 1]
[Status: Healthy / Sheltered]
[Objective: Survive the journey to Winterfell.]
I closed my eyes. The confusion of being a Pokémon in Westeros was still there, buzzing at the back of my brain, but for the first time, I wasn't cold. I was a part of the pack now.
That was enough for a start.