Different

Part 1

They're going to kill me, Arya thought. She was standing in front of the gate to her house with a duffel bag in one hand and a thoughtful expression on her face. The massive iron gate dwarfed her already small frame. The question was: how would she escape without getting caught?

She couldn't open the gate without her mother or the security guards finding out and catching her, and this was the only exit. The mansion was surrounded by a twelve foot high fence made of stone. The only way out is to climb. At just about five feet tall (if she rounded up), Arya knew this would be a difficult task without having to carry a heavy duffel bag packed with clothes and some cash.

But Arya was nothing if not determined. She slung the bag across her shoulders, reached up, and grabbed hold to the first stone and began to climb. It was damn hard. She broke a couple nails, which wouldn't bother her except for the fact that split halfway up her nail bed and bled and bruised. Her foot slipped a couple of times and the only way to keep from falling was to grab on as tight as she could with her hands, rubbing them raw.

After what felt like years of grunting and clawing and sweating her way up, she was finally at the top and staring out to freedom. And at a long drop to the ground. Arya dropped her duffel bag first then took a step onto thin air and kept her landing soft by bending her knees and rolling. Thank god for Bran, she thought while panting, trying to catch her breath. Fear is sharper than swords. Fear is sharper than swords.

And Arya was gone. Sneaking off into the night, and disappearing from her old world.

···

Arya did not think it would be this difficult. Being cold. The night would have been fine, except for the wind. The wind cut through her layers and her skin and chilled her right to the bone. She couldn't stop shivering. Arya prided herself in her control, but she couldn't even get her body to stop shaking.

Then there was the damned bench. Hard and cold, it poked into her back and she could not find a single comfortable position. So all night she tossed and turned and shivered her way into a fitful sleep filled with dreams of darkness and death.

The next day she woke up to being poked roughly with a stick.

"You can't sleep here. Get on with you, ya bum!" A large man in a park security uniform said, hitting Arya with his baton.

"I can sleep wherever I want! Fuck off!"

With that Arya found herself lifted off the bench and thrown out onto the sidewalk along with her bag.

"Don't come back. We don't want any of your kind here," the man ordered.

Arya found herself rubbing her sore head and wondering if she really already looked like a street kid. She had never been pretty, but one night away from home and she was already no one?

No idea where to go, Arya stood up and started off in a random direction. Head held high, she didn't notice the guy trying to catch her attention until he grabbed her arm.

Quick as a snake.

The boy was on the ground with Arya standing over him in less than a second.

"Hey! That hurt," he whined, trying to sit up.

Arya pinned him down. "What do you want?"

He wasn't very strong, as he struggled under her weight and Arya noticed that he was younger than she was. Probably about 14 to her 16 years.

"Hey nothing, man! I just wanted to help."

"Bullshit." She pressed her knees harder into his sides.

"No really, I saw that jerk throw you out of the park."

"And?"

"And I thought you must be new to these streets."

"Fine."

"Now could you get off? Please?"

Arya scrambled off the boy who she noticed was blushing. Must be embarrassed, she thought.

"I'm Hotpie," Hotpie held out his hand.

"Hotpie?"

"Long story."

"I'm Ary-," Arya began but thought better of handing out her real name when her mother was most likely looking for her. "Arry. Just Arry."