Chapter 3: The Wolves of Winterfell

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The afternoon sun hung low over Winterfell, casting long shadows across the castle grounds. The chill in the air was ever-present, but Bella found herself growing accustomed to it, her body adjusting to the perpetual cold of the North. Wrapped in a warm cloak Sansa had lent her, she walked slowly alongside her new friend, taking in the bustling life of the castle.

Servants hurried past carrying baskets of provisions, blacksmiths hammered away at glowing steel, and the sounds of laughter and chatter filled the crisp air. It was a world so alive and vivid that Bella couldn't help but feel a spark of excitement amid her lingering confusion and fear.

As they made their way across the courtyard, a sudden shout drew their attention. Bella turned to see a young girl, no older than twelve, sparring with a straw dummy, a wooden sword clutched tightly in her hand. Her dark hair was pulled back in a messy braid, and her gray eyes were alight with fierce determination as she swung and thrust at her imagined opponent.

Sansa sighed softly beside Bella, a mixture of exasperation and fondness in her expression.

"That's my sister, Arya," she explained, her tone carrying a hint of resignation. "She fancies herself a warrior, much to Mother's dismay."

Bella watched as Arya danced around the dummy with surprising agility, her movements quick and precise. There was a wildness to her, a free spirit that reminded Bella of herself in some ways—always yearning for something more, something beyond the expectations placed upon her.

"She's quite good," Bella remarked, a smile tugging at her lips.

Sansa rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the pride creeping into her voice. "She is, though she should be focusing on her lessons instead of swinging that sword around."

As if sensing their gaze, Arya paused in her attack and looked over, a grin spreading across her face when she spotted Sansa and the unfamiliar woman beside her. Without hesitation, she bounded over, her cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling.

"Who's this?" Arya asked boldly, eyeing Bella with open curiosity.

"This is Bella," Sansa replied, her tone prim. "She's our guest."

Arya looked Bella up and down, taking in her strange clothes and the lingering hint of sadness in her eyes. But rather than questioning her further, Arya thrust out her hand in a gesture of friendship.

"Nice to meet you, Bella. I'm Arya Stark."

Bella shook her hand, amused by the girl's directness. "Nice to meet you too, Arya. I was just admiring your swordsmanship."

Arya's grin widened. "You like it? I'm getting better every day. Maybe one day I'll be as good as Syrio Forel."

Sansa huffed softly. "Father only allowed you those lessons so you'd learn some discipline, not so you could go around pretending to be a knight."

Arya shot her sister a playful glare. "Better to pretend to be a knight than a simpering lady."

Before Sansa could retort, a deep voice called out across the courtyard.

"Arya! Sansa!"

All three turned to see a tall young man approaching, his auburn hair catching the fading sunlight. He moved with an easy confidence, his armor glinting and a friendly smile on his face.

"That's Robb, our older brother," Sansa explained quietly to Bella as he drew nearer.

Robb Stark reached them quickly, his gaze curious as it settled on Bella.

"And who might this be?" he asked, his tone warm and welcoming.

"This is Bella," Sansa answered. "She's... a guest. Jon found her in the woods yesterday."

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