GOT: The Arcanine of the North

For a fortnight, the fisherfolk living along the muddy shores of Gods Eye had lived in terror.

The banners of House Lannister flying from the towers of Harrenhal had brought nothing but misery to the smallfolk. Men who ventured too close to the fortress were pressed into labor or killed for sport. But it was the women and children who suffered the worst. Just days ago, a young maiden from a nearby village had been dragged off by foraging outriders, only to be found weeping and broken on the reedy shores of the lake the next morning.

After that, the doors of every thatched hovel were barred. Mothers held their children tight in the dark, praying to the Mother Above for mercy.

And then, the Gods answered.

The sky over Harrenhal had turned the color of the rising sun. The highest tower had exploded from within, and the Lannister army had scattered like frightened rats. The smallfolk who dared to peek through their floorboards whispered of divine punishments, the fire of the Seven Hells come down to burn the cruel men to ash.

I knew nothing of their prayers. I only knew that I was exhausted.

Deep within the tangled, woods bordering Gods Eye, I lay curled beneath the massive roots of a sprawling, fern-draped tree. The graze along my ribs from the scorpion bolt still stinging. I was conserving my energy, letting my internal heat drop, blending into the shadows of the forest.

That was when I heard the snapping of twigs. 

It was the light, clumsy stumbling of a very small human.

A little girl, no more than four years old, pushed her way through a patch of damp brambles. She was wearing a roughspun tunic that was entirely too big for her, her bare feet caked in dark mud. Her thoughts written plainly in her wide, distracted eyes. She had been locked inside a cramped, dark hovel for weeks, her freedom obstructed. The moment a door had been left unlatched, her toddler curiosity and urge for freedom had overpowered her mother's warnings. She had likely wondered about, convinced she was embarking on a grand adventure, completely unaware of the concept of distance.

But as the heavy clouds blocked out the moon and the woods plunged into true darkness, the adventure abruptly ended.

The wind picked up, howling through the dead branches. A freezing rain began to fall, pattering aggressively against the leaves.

The little girl stopped. She spun around in a circle, her mud-stained hands clutching the hem of her tunic. The trees all looked the same. Her house was gone.

Her bottom lip began to tremble. A fat tear rolled down her dirt-smudged cheek, mixing with the cold rain. She backed up against the hollow of a rotted log, pulled her knees to her chest, and began to cry out aloud, the breathless, heartbroken sobs of a lost child.

She was loud enough to mask the rustling in the bush.

I cracked one amber eye open.

A gaunt, mangy river-wolf slinked out from behind a thicket of thorns. It was starving and It locked its yellow eyes onto the crying toddler, its lips curling back to reveal yellowed fangs. It lowered its head, stalking forward on silent paws, beginning to circle its prey.

When the little girl finally noticed it's movements. She gasped, her crying hitching in her throat as the wolf stepped into the clearing. She froze, terrified, pressing her small back as hard as she could against the wet wood.

The wolf snapped its jaws, preparing to lunge.

Before it got its back legs off the ground, within the pitch-black shadows of the hanging ferns directly behind the girl, I my other eye.

I let the massive, glowing amber orbs that form my eyes burn through the darkness, illuminating the underside of the ferns with a haunting, golden light revealing my presence.

The wolf froze mid-step. Its ears flattened against its skull. It took one look at the glowing eyes in the dark, let out a pathetic, terrified whimper, tucked its tail firmly between its legs, and bolted frantically into the night.

The little girl blinked. Seeing how the scary wolf had run away, she hesitantly turned her head to look over her shoulder to see what had frightened it off.

She saw my eyes, gasped and scrambled backwards on her hands and knees in the mud, her chest heaving in panic. 

But I remained perfectly still. I closed my glowing eyes halfway, softening their light into a warm, gentle glow.

I slowly lowered my massive, scarred muzzle from the shadows, resting my chin flat against the mossy ground just a few feet from her. I kept myself as small as a six-foot beast possibly could.

I let out a long, soft puff of air from my nostrils. It was warm, carrying the comforting scent of mine. As the breath washed over her, the freezing rain soaking her clothes no longer bothered her.

She stopped scrambling backward. She sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her muddy hand, staring at my massive face.

I let out a low, vibrating rumble deep in my chest. A deep, resonant sound that vibrated the ground and radiated pure, soothing energy.

The terror in her eyes slowly melted into pure, childlike wonder. The cold was gone. The dark didn't seem so scary anymore, not with a giant, glowing sun resting in the mud right beside her.

She took a tiny, hesitant step forward. Then another.

I kept my eyes half-closed, projecting a calm presence.

She reached out with a trembling, mud-covered little hand. She pressed her small palm flat against the thick, cream-colored fur of my nose.

She giggled, the sound light and musical against the rain, leaning her weight against my cheek to soak in the heat.

I slowly pushed myself to my feet, being careful not to startle her. I nudged her shoulder gently with my snout, pointing her toward the edge of the woods.

She understood and began to walk with me falling into step perfectly beside her. I walked between her and the wind, my massive body shielding her from the freezing rain, my ambient heat keeping the air around her as warm as a midsummer afternoon. Her small hand remained buried in the fur of my front leg as we navigated the dark roots and briars.

By the time the trees began to thin, the frantic shouting reached our ears.

"Elara! Elara!"

Through the pouring rain, the erratic light of a torch pierced the darkness. A man, soaked to the bone and weeping, was hacking wildly at the bushes with a fisherman's knife. His wife was on her knees in the mud nearby, screaming her daughter's name. They had searched the shoreline. The father had even dared to approach the burning outskirts of Harrenhal, terrified that the Lannister men had returned to steal his only child.

"Da!"

The fisherman dropped his torch straight into the mud.

"Elara!" he cried, falling to his knees as the little girl crashed into him. He wrapped both arms around her, holding her so tightly she squeaked.

His wife stumbled after him, sobbing. "Seven save us," she wept, clutching at the child. "Seven save us."

The man buried his face in his daughter's wet hair. "We thought we'd lost ye, little fish," he choked out through the wet hair stuck on his face. "Where'd ye wander off to?"

"In the woods."

"The woods?" her mother gasped.

Elara nodded happily. "Aye. The woods."

The fisherman swallowed hard. "And how'd ye get back?"

"The big warm hound."

"The what?"

"The hound." She pointed toward the trees. "The big one. Bigger than our boat."

The woman made the sign of the Seven. "Hush now, child."

"But it's true!" Elara insisted. "He chased the bad wolf away."

The fisherman slowly lifted the torch and turned toward the black treeline.

"Gods be good..." he whispered.

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