The Neck didn't feel like a place men were meant to cross, only endure.
The road narrowed as it pushed through the marsh, raised just enough to keep the wagons from sinking, though even that looked uncertain in places where the ground bled into dark water on either side. Fog hung low over everything, not thick enough to blind you, but enough to blur distance and dull sound until everything felt more muted than it should.
I kept near the Stark girls' horses as we moved through it, not because it was easier, but rather it was necessary. My paws still hadn't recovered from the run south, the skin tender beneath forming scabs, and every uneven stretch of stone reminded me how far I'd pushed them. The wagon would have spared me that, but the air here carried too much for me to sit inside and ignore it.
The swamp spoke to those who paid attention to it.
There were things in the water that didn't break the surface, but their presence carried anyway, a thick, low scent that clung to the reeds and drifted across the road whenever the wind blew. The horses felt it long before they saw anything, their steps turning uncertain, ears twitching, as they noticed something they couldn't trust.
I moved ahead when I needed to, just far enough to read the signs before it reached them. When the smell turned wrong or the ground softened underfoot, I gave a short huff or pressed against a leg to guide them back toward the center.
It didn't take long for someone to notice.
Jory rode slightly behind us. Wary of the Neck, his eyes wandered more than the others, watching the edges instead of the road alone. After the second time I veered the horses away from a stretch that looked solid but wasn't, he spoke, "Keep them to the middle," more to the riders than to me, though his glance flicked in my direction. "Road"s narrow for a reason. Don"t trust what"s off it."
He didn't wonder how I knew. He didn't need to. Men like him learned early that the difference between living and dying often came down to listening to the right thing at the right time.
Arya leaned forward in her saddle, peering down at me as we moved. She had too much energy for this kind of travel, far too restless to like being told where to stay.
"He's itching to run," she said, not loudly, but with that certainty she carried when she thought she understood something. "Look at him."
"I'd worry more about what's in the water than what the hound wants," Jory replied dryly, not looking at her. "You keep your seat and your hands where they belong."
Arya made a face at his back but didn't argue, meaning she was considering his words rather than dismissing them. Satisfied, I kept moving; restlessness wasn't a problem, but missing something was.
The days blurred together after that, the marsh stretching on longer than it had any right to, the road bending just enough to keep the end out of sight. Sansa stayed inside the wheelhouse whenever she could, complaining about the smell when she did come out, while Arya drifted where she wasn't supposed to, sometimes near the front, sometimes trailing back, never settling for long.
The wolves adjusted faster than anyone.
They were larger now, their steps lighter despite their size, their attention fixed on things no one else noticed. They weren't afraid of the swamp, but they weren't careless either.They were clearly unaware of what was waiting for them beyond it.
When the land finally changed, it did so without announcement.
The ground hardened first, the soft underfoot fading until the road felt solid again, and the smell followed after, the rot thinned out and gave way to something cleaner. The fog broke in patches, then lifted entirely, revealing green where there had only been gray before. The Riverlands opened up around us.
Men straightened in their saddles without thinking about it. Horses stepped easier. Even the wagons moved with less strain. It should have felt like relief.
It didn't last long enough.
The inn came into view late in the day, larger than most you'd find along the road, built where the crossings met. It should have been a place to rest, to eat, to let the journey pause for a night.
Instead, it looked claimed.
The banners made that clear before anything else.
Red and gold stood out, clean and deliberate, not the kind of thing you mistook for coincidence. The yard was already full, men moving in armor that caught the light in sharp flashes, their presence filling the space in a way that left little room for anyone else.
We weren't the first to arrive.
The Hound sat near the stables, working a whetstone along his blade with slow, steady strokes. The sound carried in a way that made it hard to ignore. He didn't look up when we entered, but nothing about him suggested he needed to.
Joffrey strode further in, near a group of boys his age, though he didn't look like he belonged with them. His posture loose, almost careless, but his eyes moved around, tracking things with a kind of idle attention that wasn't really idle at all.
He wasn't tired.
He was waiting for something to entertain him.
A pair of Lannister guards pushed past me as the yard filled, one of them knocking his boot against the dirt near me without looking down.
"Mind it," the other muttered, though there wasn't any weight behind it.
I stepped aside without reacting and stayed near as the Stark girls dismounted.
Sansa moved toward the inn with purpose, already adjusting herself into something more composed, something that fit the place she thought she was stepping into. Arya lingered, her attention already drifting past the buildings, past the people, toward the open space beyond.
The river.
I watched her go before she moved.
So it's happening.
The screen flickered at the edge of my vision, sharper than before.
[Current Objective: Change the Fate of the Wolves.]
[Detection: Hostile Intent rising near Prince Joffrey.]
Arya slipped away the moment no one called her back, moving toward the riverbank with Nymeria pacing easily beside her, both of them drawn by the same instinct for open ground.
No one stopped her.
I moved after her, keeping my pace even, letting the noise of the yard fall behind me as the space opened up ahead.
The light was lowering, stretching the shadows longer across the grass, and the river came into view in pieces, flashing between trees.
Everything that was meant to happen was already moving toward that clearing.
This time, I will be there first.