𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐁𝐎𝐘

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜰɪᴠᴇ

𝟚

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A blowing rain lashed at Torsten's face as he spurred his horse across the swollen stream. Beside him, Lord Commander Mormont gave the hood of his cloak a tug, muttering curses on the weather. His raven sat on his shoulder, feathers ruffled, as soaked and grumpy as the Old Bear himself. A gust of wind sent wet leaves flapping round them like a flock of dead birds. The haunted forest. The drowned forest.
Torsten hoped Samwell was holding up, back down the column. He was not a good rider even in fair weather, and six days of rain had made the ground treacherous, all soft mud and hidden rocks. When the wind blew it drove the water right into their eyes. The Wall would be flowing off to the south, the melting ice mingling with warm rain to wash down in sheets and rivers. 
Pypar and Toad would be sitting near the fire in the Common Hall, drinking cups of mulled wine before their supper. Torsten envied them. His wet wool clung to him sodden and itching, his neck and shoulders ached fiercely from the weight of mail and sword, and he was sick of salt cod, salt beef, and hard cheese.
Up ahead a hunting horn sounded a quavering note, half drowned beneath the constant patter of the rain. "Buckwell's horn." The Old Bear announced. "The gods are good, Craster's still there." His raven gave a single flap of his big black wings, croaked and ruffled his feathers up again. Torsten had often heared the black brothers tell tales of Craster and his keep. Now he'd be seeing it for himself with his own eyes. Thoren Smallwood swore that Craster was a friend to the Watch, despite his unsavoury reputation.

"Thorne said the man's half mad, that he'd spent his life in the cursed wood and yet, he'd never turned a ranger away, and nor does he love Mance Ryder." Jon said and the Old Bear nodded.

"So long as he gives us a hot meal and a chance to dry our clothes, I'll be happy." Torsten looked between Jon and Mormont. "I've heard Craster was a Kingslayer, liar, raper and craven, hinted that he trafficked with slaves and demons."

"And worse." The old forester rode behind Torsten, clacking his wooden teeth. "There's a cold smell to that one, there is." 

"Jon." Lord Mormont commanded. "Ride back along the column and spread the word. And remind the officers that I want no trouble about Craster's wives. The men are to mind their hands and speak to these women little as need be." He announced.

"Aye, my Lord." Jon turned his horse back the way they'd come. It was pleasant to have the rain out of his face. His eyes lingered on Torsten's own as the two parted ways.
Torsten kept the reins tight as he pressed on at Lord Commander's side. Torsten looked dubious as his eyes fell back on Mormont.

"Edd says Craster's a terrible savage. He marries his daughters and obeys no laws but those he makes himself. He said he's got black blood in his veins. His mother was a Wildling women who lay with a ranger, so he's a bastard." Torsten's eyes lingered on Lord Mormont as he talked, Mormont sat frozen his eyes lingered on Torsten knowingly. "You sure this is a good idea, my Lord?" Torsten was nervous to say the least, it was unfamiliar land with unfamiliar people.

"You have nothing to worry about, boy." Mormont said, his eyes moved on to the horizon.
 A white shadow was quick to dart past Torsten's vision, his eyes followed after Ghost. The direwolve's paws were stained with mud.

"Ghost!" Torsten called, the animals head craned to look towards him, the red embers of his eyes looked dark in the shadows. He put the spurs to his surefooted little garron. "I'll catch up, my Lord." Pulling the reins in the opposite direction, he guided his horse towards the hunting direwolf. The sounds of man and horse diminished, swallowed up by the wet green wild, and soon enough he could hear only the steady wash of rain against leaf and tree and rocks. It was mid-afternoon, yet the forest seemed as dark as dusk. With Ghost by his side he felt less lonely.

"Ghost! Ghost, to me!" Torsten could hear the faint callsof Jon in the distance, he noticed Ghost's heard jolt at the command.

"Come on boy, let's go find your bastard owner." In places the branches wove a canopy overhead, Torsten was given a moment's respite from the drumming of the rain against his head. As he rode past lightening blasted a chestnut tree overgrown with wild white roses, he heard light mutters mumble through the damp air.

"Ah, it's you, Lord Snow." Torsten could hear Dywen's voice. The Old Bear had deployed outriders to either side of the main column, to screen their march and warn of an approach of any enemies, and even there he took no chances, sending the men out in pairs. "Thought me and the boy had us one o' them Others to deal with. Lose your wolf?" Torsten looked down towards Ghost, while the white beast stared back at him.

"He's off hunting." Jon had answered, Ghost did not like to travel with the column, yet, he never strayed off far.

"Fishing, I'd call it, in this wet." Dywen said.

"My mother always said rain was good for growing crops." Grenn put in hopefully.

"Aye, a good crop of mildew." Dywen said. "The best thing about a rain like this, it saves a man from taking baths." He made a clacking sound on his wooden teeth.

"Buckwell's found Craster." Jon told them. Torsten pulled against the reins and his garron slowed through the shrubbery.

"Had he lost him?" Dywen chuckled. "See that you young bucks don't go nosing about Craster's wives, you hear?" Jon's eyes landed on Torsten first, then Ghost. Jon smiled.

"Want them all for yourself, Dywen?" Jon asked. Dywen clacked his teeth some more.

"Might be I do, the old bastard would never miss a couple." He answered.

"How many wives does he have, truly?" Grenn asked.

"More'n you ever will." Torsten laughed and Grenn swung at him.

"It's not hard when you breed your own. Looks like the bastard found your beast, Snow." Torsten had felt bile crawling up his throat, he'd swallowed the putrid acid at once. Dywen had left, leaving the young boys to their own thoughts.
Ghost stood beside Torsten's horse with tail held high, his white fur ruffed up thick against the rain. Grenn's mount had shied at the scent of him, even now, after more than a year, the horses were uneasy in the presence of the direwolf.

"With me." Jon spurred off to Craster's Keep and Torsten followed.

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