The hunting grounds of House Stark spread across the wooded hills north of Winterfell.
No fences marked the borders, but Stark men patrolled regularly.
Anyone caught poaching answered for it the hard way.
Aragorn lay flat in the underbrush, motionless as stone.
Bow in his left hand, arrow nocked, eyes locked on the gaps between the leaves.
He had been waiting half the day.
The shadowcat finally stepped into view.
Sleek, powerful, its black coat marked with faint stripes that broke up its shape among the trees.
It moved like it owned the forest.
Since the giant stag had been dealt with, this thing had become the new problem.
It wasn’t just killing deer for food.
It was slaughtering them, eating everything down to the bones, leaving nothing for the other predators or for the hunters who were supposed to bring meat back for the king’s visit.
Robert was coming.
He loved to hunt.
Ned Stark did not want to hand him a forest full of empty kills and nervous game.
Aragorn shifted his weight by inches, tracking the cat as it padded forward.
He drew the string back smooth and steady.
The arrow flew.
It took the shadowcat clean through the head.
The animal leaped once, then dropped hard and stayed down.
Aragorn waited another ten seconds before moving.
A gray shape flashed past him—Nymeria, running low and fast.
The direwolf didn’t even glance his way.
She headed straight for the body like she had been waiting for this moment too.
He rose and walked over, stopping a safe distance out.
The shadowcat lay still, blood darkening the black fur.
He put a second arrow into it just to be sure.
Too many men had died assuming a beast was finished when it wasn’t.
Nymeria circled the corpse once, then turned and stared at him, impatient.
Aragorn lowered his bow.
“You’re braver than you look, Nymeria.” The name had been Arya’s idea, given with that fierce little smile of hers.
She had told him the direwolf got bored inside the castle walls and that he should take her along on patrols.
Aragorn hadn’t argued.
The wolf had started following him anyway.
He remembered the day the pups had come to Winterfell.
Ned had found the dead mother direwolf and her litter beside a weirwood tree after executing another deserter.
Bran had begged.
Jon had spoken up.
In the end Ned had brought them home.
By the next morning the mother was gone, as if the old gods had only meant for the children to have the pups.
Now the direwolves were growing fast.
Nymeria only seemed interested in one person outside the Stark family.
Hoofbeats sounded behind him.
Robb Stark rode at the front of a dozen men, Theon Greyjoy and Jon Snow among them.
Grey Wind and Ghost loped alongside the horses.
Nymeria trotted over to meet her brothers.
Ghost, the biggest of the three, sniffed them both, nipped gently at their ears, then dropped to the ground like he was delivering a report.
Robb reined in and looked at the dead cat.
“That the shadowcat?” “It is,” Aragorn said.
“Well done.” Theon swung down from his horse, walked over, and kicked the body hard with the toe of his boot.
“Two arrows?
I would’ve dropped it with one.
Some men just aren’t clean about their work.” Aragorn kept his face pleasant.
“My aim still has a long way to go, Lord Greyjoy.
I’d be grateful for any advice you can spare.” Theon blinked, thrown off by the humble answer.
“Well… yes.
Of course.
When I have the time.” One of the soldiers stepped forward.
“What do we do with it, my lord?” “Too big to carry whole,” Robb said.
“Take the hide.
The rest can stay.” Theon folded his arms, looking pleased with himself.
“Aragorn here can handle the skinning.
None of us are getting our hands dirty with that.
Jon can help if he wants.” Jon shook his head.
“Robb, the king will be here soon.
We need meat.
We should bring the carcass back.” Far beyond the Wall, in a wildling camp, a small man stood shaking.
His teeth were clenched so hard his jaw trembled.
Blood ran from his palms where his nails had broken the skin.
He twisted and jerked like something was trying to crawl out of his bones.
“He’s gone mad,” someone whispered.
The man threw his head back and screamed at the sky, a raw, wordless sound that carried across the snow.