Where Beauty Goes To Die | j. snow

CHAPTER 23 | THE RECREANCE

She nodded, her heart thumping a little bit more in her chest than usual, "yeah, yeah it's good."

They walked in silence like that until they reached the group, their hands slowly parting from one another. Her palm was left cold once more as she sat on a fallen tree, peering up to see leaves rustling and the dead ones falling down to the ground to partake in a delicate dance with the wind. She always loved nature, she saw beauty in what the world around her created. Nature was a gift that needed to be cherished, it bloomed and sprouted into winding and ethereal masterpieces that eventually died into ashes, only to be reborn again. She could rely on nature because even when it brings death, in its place the foundations of more life is sprung. Life brings death and death brings life.

Tormund called everyone to start moving again, heaving his weapon over his burly shoulder while walking through the forest once more. Wren stood up, walking with them. Clay fell back by her side and instead of taking her hand, tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. It was slowly growing out again, the edges brushing her shoulders. She worried that when—if she made it back to Castle Black, they would notice she wasn't who she said she was. They would kill her. It wasn't safe for a woman to live in a place full of rapists and thieves. Some of the men weren't bad, but many still carried that dark gleam of evil within their eyes. Those who are brought into the darkness have a hard time finding the light again, if they ever so wish to go searching for it.

Wren wasn't sure what they were doing as they were crouched down behind a low stone wall, until Orell came to the group relaying information: "only one old man and eight good horses." She let the realization sink in and she suppressed the thoughts she wished to say to the group of Wildlings. She looked over to see Jon quietly by Ygritte. He met her eyes and said nothing, but she knew him, she knew he was thinking the same thing too.

"What's one old man doing with eight horses?" Tormund asked suspiciously.

"He breeds them for the Watch," Wren answered. She was a steward for a short time but she learned enough to know how things work at Castle Black.

"How's he keep folks from stealing them?" Ygritte asked.

"The Watch protects him," Jon replied to her before Wren could.

"Not today they don't," Orell spoke lowly, "stealing horses, he's got some gold in there."

Tormund grinned, "a proper steal."

"Lets count them up," Orell made to move but Jon cut him off—"we just take the horses and go."

Wren shifted beside Clay who as always, was watching the events of the conversation unfold in his stony silence. She was jealous at how no matter the words that were said he wouldn't make a noise or react in any way until all that wanted to be said was spoken, and then like a true leader, he would do what needed to be done. Unfortunately, others did not follow the same principle.

"The man's no threat," Jon tried to persuade them.

Orell looked to Tormund, "I keep tellin' ya."

"He's an old man, " Ygritte told Jon, "it's fair through the heart, it's a better way to die than coughing up your last with no one but your horses to hear."

Wren's nose wrinkled and she tried to hold her tongue, she really did try, but she couldn't let them go through with murdering an unsuspecting man who was just doing his duty. "Why determine when his last breath is, why not let fate decide?" She asked, and she swore Ygritte was imagining cutting her throat in that instant. Jon gave Wren an appreciative look.