The Little Wolf

Lyra

Winterfell

Two eyes the colour of crystals peered over a fallen tree, staring intently at a snow-white beetle hunting a smaller, weaker bug.

The watched beetle, with matched concentration, slyly moved closer to his prey. As he opened his mouth, the beetle lunged for his meal, departing the ground as one creature, landing again, prey in mouth, as a small bird.

"Lev!" the little girl with crystal eyes enthused, "well done, my friend!"

The baby bird swaggered over to the girl proudly, pacing on the log in front of her crystal eyes as if to do a victory dance. The little lady shifted slightly to remove her drab grey cloak, revealing an equally drab and utterly filthy outfit underneath. Her navy blue dress, which covered her knobbly little knees, had dirt stains smattered all over it, her fur vest had cobwebs, her should-be-straight brown hair held a rat's maze, her black stockings ripped at the shin.

Lyra was utterly, in all senses of the word, imperfect.

Yet, this would never discount her worth, and Lyra knew, humbly, that she was special. Lev, her little beetle-turned-bird was more than a specimen, he was far more than a companion to the unique little lady, Lev was Lyra's soul. He was her spirit, her emotion, her personality worn on her sleeve, all reflecting in a little creature that changed species like her big sister changed her mind about whether little Lyra was worth her time or not.
But Lyra didn't care about Sansa, her grumpy big sister that she couldn't help but adore, she left all that behind her every day when she was with Lev.

She crouched down again, once more resuming her position of intently staring at the bird. Quickly Lev stretched his wings and flew up, squawking to encourage his little master to keep up. Lyra cackled, before hoisting herself over the log, sprinting through the forest, splashing through water, sliding, tummy down, through mud. Mother would not be pleased, Father would once more walk into her room and tenderly tell his rambunctious little daughter to act like a lady, not a clown, Jon would smirk, and Arya would be jealous that she weren't there with her.

As Lyra rose out of the mud, she heard voices and horses approaching, reminding her of the Night's Watch deserter that required her father's audience. Lyra had been given no knowledge of the execution, but being the intuitive thing she was, had simply figured. She whistled for Lev, who soared onto her shoulder, this time as a Snow Owl, and headed for the noise, bracing herself for a "how to be lady-like" lecture.

As Lyra frequently did, she was accurate in assuming the reactions of her clumsy, energetic ways. The second her muddied little figure blundered onto the path, her Father gently shook his head in a delicate mix of disapproval, for the lady his daughter wasn't, but admiration, for the woman his daughter would inevitably become. She was simple. She was Lyra.

"I'm sorry, father", the girl spoke, guiltily looking at her muddied boots.

"Where is Maester Leland?" Her father questioned, reminding Lyra of her doddery old teacher. Maester Leland had been invited to look after Lev to his needs during Lyra's infancy, and then teach Lyra how to control him, and her unique powers, as she aged.

Lyra knew little of how Lev came about, and no one, not even her father or mother, would tell her. All the girl knew was that when she was born, the wetnurse and Maester Luwin agreed she was special. The girl was born tiny, so tiny they debated her survival. Yet, she fought hard, and though she was still tiny now, aged four, she was still a little fighter. Additionally, her eyes were crystal blue, so bright and sparkly, they were described in relation to a White Walkers. A couple of months after her birth, Lyra was still tiny, her eyes still effervescent, and her parents increasingly worried. Within an hour, Ned was packed up, babe in arms, where he galloped out of the gates. Her returned two months later, Lyra, still tiny, bundled in his arms, a baby owl perched on his shoulder. And that is all Lyra knew. She didn't know where her father took her, where Lev appeared, and who Ned met with.

Lyra frequently questioned it, to which her parents, or Leland, would simply answer, "Lyra, you are a special girl, who has a special future planned." The conversations would always end there, any more questioning from Lyra being shunned furthermore.

Lyra reconsidered her father's question of Maester Leland's whereabouts and answered, "Home, father. Our lesson ended."

Her father merely shook his head again, this time eyeing her grubby dress. Then, he gently smiled before saying, "Ride with your brothers", nodding over at her three brothers mounted atop their horses. Before she could walk toward a horse, Ned chuckled with a cheeky grin.

"What?" Lyra asked.

"You have to tell mother what happened to your dress!" he grinned.

And, with that, he kicked his horse into a trot. Leaving Lyra to silently panic over what she would tell her mother. Jon trotted up, still smirking, and lifted his little sister into his lap.

Together, the company continued to ride. Lev, a baby owl, paced his flaps to fly aside Lyra.