𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 || 𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐁 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐊

ᴛʜɪʀᴛʏ-ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ

There was blood in his mouth.

Blood and fur and meat.

His two tiny friends had not eaten meat in too long, and although he had not, either, they were a priority. So this meat was for them.

The vicious little one mistrusted him—a feeling he returned—which was why he could find his own meat. And he had, by the looks of it. Was offering it to his tiny friends, too. That was new.

He trotted closer and put the rabbits on the ground next to the other one. The tiny one with lighter hair shot him a smile, but the vicious one just hissed at him. Never one to be outdone, he growled back.

It wasn't a serious threat—his quiet tiny friend had made clear that they needed the vicious one, and that he was not to be harmed. Usually, he only listened to one person—but his bondmate had instructed him to help his tiny friends, so he would listen to them, too.

Within reason.

He shook out his fur and padded away when the vicious one went back to chattering to himself.

There was a strange smell in the air, he realised now that the rabbit was no longer right under his snout. He raised his head and sniffed.

Hm. Nothing he recognized.

His ears twitched. There were—yes, he could hear voices and footsteps and something much, much bigger ahead of him. The direction of the smell.

Quietly, he made his way through a few shrubs and bushes until the ground fell away to reveal a small basin. A few feet away, he spotted his quiet little friend, and decided to join him. Whatever was coming their way, this was as good a spot as any to see it from a safe distance. He lay down beside his friend, but his ears remained tiled ahead.

There were not many things that dwarfed him nowadays, and with the company he had, it seemed he had become too used to being big. Because the grey beasts that emerged from the trees at the other side of the basin, let along by soldiers and carrying them as well, were enormous. He instinctively shrunk back, out of sight, tucking his tail closer.

Perhaps it was fright, or maybe the way his tiny friend tensed beside him that distracted him so, but by the time he realised the other smell in the air, it was too late. Green-cloaked men jumped out of bushes and emerged from behind trees, attacking the beasts and soldiers alike.

Next to him, his tiny friend stumbled to his feet. He yipped in warning—there was someone else approaching, he could hear their steps in the underbrush—but the little one ignored him. Jumping up as well, he tried to catch his cloak in his teeth and stop him but he was deceptively quick.

When he rounded the corner, his little friend was already captured, with a knife at his throat.

❄️

Robb could not stop tonguing his cheek.

He knew he should not, and it hurt every time—both the hole in his cheek and the cut in his tongue—but it was like losing a tooth. His tongue kept finding the cut, feeling it without his say-so. Every time, Robb would be startled by the stinging pain and curse himself, Saruman, and the Gods, before vowing to keep away from it. Then, moments later, the whole thing would repeat itself.

Robb almost wished he could focus on the pain in his side instead. He was sure that wound had reopened when Saruman had hit him there—his shirt was wet and stuck to his skin, and every now and again, he felt the tickle of a drop of blood running down his hip. But he was still dizzy—be it from the repeated hits to his head, blood loss, or thirst—and his mind was running in circles, repeating inane words and phrases on a loop as though they were a song.