The stench of rotting flesh, it lingered like a marked tree upon the ground, though not as pleasant. It seared against my snout convulsing my mouth; to twitch in random spasms of contempt.
The wall had been broken. The noise had ricochet across the northern forest louder than any thrashing of thunder; and the ground had shook asunder from the creature’s mighty roar.
Dragon…the voice whispered in my mind.
They had gone now. They had passed through the fallen wall; leaving only the taint of fresh blood and ash to commemorate their passing. If any had been lucky to survive, they too were long gone and those whom were left had picked up the Night Kings mantle to join his slow and methodical march South.
I wanted to linger. To explore the far corners of this newly accessed place. To leave my mark as a sigil for any Wolf who came thereafter. I wanted to seek the faint and lingering sweetness of blood hidden between the newly strewn boulders of ice. I wanted to sate my hunger and lick them clean.
“Cannot linger”….again, the voice.
It echoed through my thoughts like a Master and I lifted my head, curling my lips in a silent snarl of silent denial. Yet I knew I would obey for I had no control of the voice and yet I knew it was me.
Begrudgingly I turned, feeling the cold winter winds creep across my flank; lifting my coarse and shaggy fur. It is the ‘raven’ reminding me, that there is nothing left for me here. The world it had fallen to silence. It hid in the shadows hoping not to be noticed. Hoping to hide until the long winter had passed; and across the barren country, I ran alone…
A solitary Dire-Wolf with a single word…’Stark’… imprinted upon my mind.
