...𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐧𝐨 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫...
"Can you just stop dying?!"
"...Stop saying that like I do it on purpose, I don't."
↤↤↤↤↤ 𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 they learn that snow makes the most difference together than...
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𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐁, the black of his cloak left him drifting about like a foreigner, though he was a foreigner among them. Even though the blood of the first men ran through all their veins.
He could still feel himself trembling, could still smell the blood of his fellow brother Qhorin Half-Hand. This was their chance, this was their chance to survive, but Jon wasn't quite sure if he was surviving for the right reasons.
He could still see it, the babe—the son being carted away to gods knows where.
Commander Mormont knew...
He knew...
"He's killing them—you knew..."
"Like it or not...we need men like Craster..."
Perhaps Jon was overly naive but he disagreed, there shouldn't be a place anywhere in the world for men like Craster except on a pike.
He thought of the monster taking the babe away.
"Whatever it was, dare I say you'll see it again..."
Ygritte makes sure to shove him, "Don't let your mind wander too far, Snow, someone might just hear, ya."
"For their sake, I hope not," he grunted, flicking his grey eyes in her direction, her grin is bright.
"Try not to look so grim, Jon Snow," she nudges him again, she looks excited, "If Mance Rayder likes you, he'll let you live another day," she looks him over cheekily, "but if you don't..." she leaves it open ended.
How...delightful...
The two other wildings wait for them in front of the largest tent, his sword is held in the left ones hold. His stomach lurches and he tried not grumble possessively at the sight of the white wolf head pummel.
He resists the urge, Ygritte trades her spear for his sword and pushes him inside ahead of her, the two follow him at a close pace.
His eyes find the largest man in the tent, his hair is red with streak of white, his back is turned but Jon sees that he's gnawing savagely at a halfway cooked chicken.
He tilts his head as the man across from him straightens, the red hair man pauses in his movements and cocks his head just slightly, his blue eyes flicking to the right just enough to spot Jon from his peripheral. "I smell a crow," he grunts, he sounded like a bear.
"We killed his friends," one of the raiders grunts, "Thought you might wanna question this one."
"What do we want with a baby crow?"
"This baby killed Qhorin Half-hand," Ygritte grunts and Jon tries not to bristle when he feels several eyes on him. "He wants to be one of us."
The big man stands, slowly, he's larger than what Jon expected, he looks Jon over critically, "That Half-handed cunt killed friends of mine," he states, not quite malicious but curious. "Friends twice your size."
