"Why would a woman want to go to Castle Black?" Orivel spoke through a loud laugh. The way he spoke made it seem that he guessed her answer would be just as stupid as the thought of a woman roaming Castle Black was.
"Because it is the last place any...
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All you crows want to fly free.
Somewhere in the North of Westeros, 301 AC
Elyana eventually managed to stop her tears, replacing them with shaky breaths that grew stronger with time. She closed a palm into a fist over the bark of a tree and brought her head up from where it had been studying the dirt. The trees seemed to stretch on forever with her blurry eyes, and the journey ahead grew more impossible the longer she waited to begin.
She looked to her free hand, feeling the dried blood between her fingers. Her palm was stained red, the blood crusted over the skin to look a part of her forever. A frown found its way onto her lips at the sight, and the hand that was pressed into the bark moved to rub at skin in an attempt to clean herself (though the fact both hands were bloodied made it a useless one).
The rain began when she was still desperately wiping at her palms, the drops falling slow at first. Her head turned up to look through the leaves to the grey sky as they became thick and heavy. She closed her eyes and allowed the water to wash away the blood from her forehead and jaw. It was soothing in a strange way, and she opened her mouth to get fresh water, until the cold settled into her bones. The raindrops in her eyelashes slipped down over her cheeks as she pulled up her damp hood up, brushing away the hair that began to stick to her face.
If she hadn't forced herself to continue moving, she would have frozen to death. Her entire face stung with pain as she pushed her sword back into its baldric, flexing her fists and ignoring how they were paling.
Allar would have known what to do, or where the best shelter was. In fact, if he were here, he would have been paying attention to the clouds above them and predicted the rain before it started.
The thought made the fear in her gut worsen, doubts of whether she'd survive a week of the winter that was said to be the worst Westeros had seen in years. Her blood was made of warm sunlight, and her skin was used to southern air. She could only hope she could transform herself, as she transformed her voice, to be thick and tough like that of a Northerner.
She walked through the trees and clearings, darting across roads to ensure she wasn't spotted. It would have been easier to walk along the dirt paths. They would at least have given her some idea of where she was heading. Instead, she remained in the woods, her hands closed tightly to keep her fingers warm. She tried to uncurl them at one point but was met but a stinging pain in her knuckles. Afterwards she stuffed them under her cloak.
When the rain stopped the sky was a purple colour compared to the daytime blue. The sun had disappeared behind the trees some time ago and the moon was preparing to rise. Elyana's hair was frozen at the roots and ends, and she could feel ice on her eyelashes (every time she blinks the cold would touch her cheeks and she would shiver). Her legs burned when she stopped, her hood remaining over her eyes as she released a long breath of cold air that turned into a white cloud in front of her.
