On the first day after leaving Moat Cailin, the party stepped out of The Neck, and Edmure almost thought he had taken a wrong turn.
The landscape around them suddenly changed from yellow-green to frozen white.
The Neck received warm, moist air from the bays on both sides, and its thick plants acted like insulation, keeping the soil and water from freezing.
But as they entered the vast, rolling hills of the Barrowlands, ice and snow covered everything in sight.
While resting at Moat Cailin, Edmure and his men had put on warmer clothes.
They added padded cotton layers under their mail, swapped their wool cloaks for sheepskin ones lined with wool, and wrapped scarves around their faces until only their eyes showed.
In the Barrowlands, they spent another day replacing the wagon wheels with sled runners and using felt blankets to keep the horses and mules warm at night.
On the main road, the snow was over a foot deep, packed hard by previous travelers.
Off the road, the snow was several feet deep.
This was not even the coldest part of winter—Edmure knew that the deepest snow in the North could reach forty feet.
The mule-drawn sleds moved faster than the wagons, but strong winds often slowed them down.
Cold gusts blew off the barren hills, blinding the men with flying ice crystals and whipping snow while making it hard for the animals to walk.
And this was just normal weather for the region.
Edmure began to miss the Riverlands.
Riverrun stood where two rivers met; when the castle gates were opened, water surrounded the stronghold on three sides like a giant stone ship.
In the summer, looking out from the keep revealed green fields, fat livestock, fruit trees, and nets full of fresh fish.
The North in winter, however, was a frozen wasteland—ice-covered hills, frozen trees, and icy rivers.
Even the sky looked cold, pale, and lifeless.
As soon as the sun went down, the temperature dropped and the wind howled.
The group had to stop immediately to set up camp.
Edmure used his sword to cut square blocks of hard snow to build a windbreak.
Behind the snow wall, they lit fires, pitched tents, and ate.
At night, they slept on their leather gear, covered themselves with wool sweaters and sheepskin cloaks, and wrapped their heads in scarves to stay warm.
Winter days were short, and stopping at noon to cook was too difficult.
The group traveled as far as they could while the sun was up, eating only twice a day—once before leaving in the morning and once after setting up camp at night.
However, they ate larger meals to make up for it, and the animals needed extra feed, causing their supplies to run out quickly.
During their second night in the Barrowlands, the guard dogs suddenly jumped up from the fire and began barking into the darkness.
Ser Brynden Tully squinted into the dark.
“We have company.
The local wildlife has come to greet us, probably drawn by the smell of horse sweat.” In the pitch-black night, Edmure saw several pairs of glowing green eyes.
They were hungry wolves.
Frightened by the fire and the large group of men, they stayed back, but their hunger kept them circling the camp in search of food.
“Four or five wolves won’t hurt us.
The guards just need to stay alert,” Ser Brynden said, sending everyone back to their tents.
However, the wolves howled continuously through the night, keeping the dogs barking and preventing Edmure and many others from getting a good night’s sleep.
By morning, the wolves were gone, and the group set off again.
Those who were tired dozed in the wagons.
But as soon as night fell, the wolves returned.
Their numbers had doubled to about ten, and they kept following the camp.
The smell of the wild beasts made the mules and horses nervous.
Ser Brynden sent Bronn and a few experienced men out on horseback with bows to chase the pack away.
But the wolves were smart.
As soon as the riders approached, they scattered into the deep snow, where they could move faster than the horses.
Bronn and his men could not chase them far, fearing unseen pits under the snow.
Between the biting wind, frozen fingers, and deep darkness, their shots missed, and not a single wolf was hit.
Within an hour, the pack gathered again and howled for more wolves to join them.
With the pack growing larger, Ser Brynden assigned six men to the night watch.
When Edmure took his shift before dawn, he counted nearly twenty wolves.
Under normal conditions, even dangerous predators like shadowcats rarely attacked groups of humans.
But with food scarce in winter, the hungry wolves had targeted the travelers.
Knowing they were initially outnumbered, the first few wolves had called others to form a larger pack.
Edmure realized that as their numbers grew, the wolves would become bolder and eventually attack the men and livestock.
At sunrise, the pack hid out of sight, though everyone knew the wolves were following the trail left by the wagons.
“Tonight, we change how we set up camp,” Edmure announced.
At sunset, he had the men line up twenty-five supply wagons end-to-end to form a square.
They placed the horses, mules, and guard dogs inside the square for safety, plugged the gaps with wooden crates, and packed snow blocks under the wheels.
Within a short time, they had built a small, temporary fort.
Behind the wagon wall, the group felt much safer and warmer, and the livestock settled down.
When the wolf pack returned, the animals remained calm.
Ser Brynden walked around the perimeter and approved.
“This is a clever setup.” “Uncle, do you think a wagon wall like this would work in a real war?” Edmure asked.
Ser Brynden thought it over.
“It has drawbacks.
It’s too heavy to move quickly, and fire could destroy it.
But it could help foot soldiers and supply lines defend against quick horse attacks.
It has real tactical value.” “What about against the Dothraki?” Edmure asked.
Ser Brynden chuckled at the odd question, thinking his nephew was daydreaming again.
“Why would the Dothraki cross the sea to Westeros?
Unless you plan to become a mercenary over there.
They use light cavalry and horse archers to hit and run.
A wagon fort would work well against them.” “If this works against the wolves, I want to train our infantry back home to use this tactic,” Edmure suggested.
“It’s worth trying,” Ser Brynden agreed.
That night was loud with the frustrated howls of the wolves, who sensed they were being kept out.
The men, however, finally got a good night’s sleep.
The wagon barrier worked perfectly.
Any wolf that tried to jump over would be an easy target for arrows, and if one managed to land inside, the armed men would quickly dispatch it.
Seeing his men well-rested the next morning made Edmure feel better, but he remained cautious.
The pack had grown to nearly thirty wolves.
As they traveled further north into new territories, more wolves would join them.
Edmure knew that in a night or two, a few starving wolves might charge the camp, triggering the whole pack to attack.
While his group had sixty men and over a hundred animals—outnumbering the wolves—Edmure wanted to complete the journey without any casualties.
Losing a mule was manageable since their load was lighter now, but he could not afford to lose a single man.
An injury in the freezing cold could easily turn fatal.
Furthermore, his party was made up of vital people: his uncle and Bronn were his key advisors, the young nobles built important family alliances, his attendants were future leaders, and the guards were trusted men.
He could not afford to lose any of them.
On the fifth evening, the clear sky allowed the moon to light up the snow-covered landscape, and the cold wind slowed.
Edmure knew it was time to deal with the wolves, which now numbered over forty.
After dinner, he gathered his team.
“We will slaughter a mule and throw the meat outside the wall.
Once the wolves gather for the food, we’ll shoot them down.” The men agreed enthusiastically.
Edmure grabbed a curved Dornish bow and gave fifteen similar bows to the best shots in the group.
These short, flexible bows were powerful and easy to use.
Eight men took heavy crossbows, while the remaining thirty-six used longbows for accurate firing.
He spread the sixty men evenly along the four wagon walls.
They hid behind the wagons and set up small ladders inside.
Edmure, Ser Brynden, Bronn, and Ser Karyl each took command of one side of the square.
The men picked the weakest mule, slaughtered it, saved the blood in a bucket, and cut the meat into large pieces.
Even while they were cutting the meat, several hungry wolves caught the scent of blood and crept within ten yards of the wall, eager to feed.