Her mouth was tied shut to muffle her screams, though the howling wind would have made it difficult for her voice to be heard even if she tried. ![]() Her hair fell in long red curls, obscuring her face as she fought for her life with little success. Now close enough to hide behind one of the cottages, the man was struck by the image of a young woman pounding her bound hands against the back of the village butcher, Ramsay Bolton, as he carried her over his shoulder and down several streets in the direction of his home. A shiver ran down his spine, unable to shake the feeling that something was wrong. With Shadow to shield his own lantern, they neared the suspicious light until he was able to make out two figures in the distance. With furrowed brows and squinting eyes, he struggled to identify what it was that moved towards the west end of the village. Jon was about to head for his home on the east end of the village when a light flickered in the distance. Fear etched itself onto the lines of her face, her cries the last sound he heard as he held her in his arms and felt her take her last breath. ‘ You promised to protect me, to come home.’ she whispered with tears in her grey eyes. She cried out for the unnamed man in her last moments, asking why he made her all those promises only to abandon her with their child. ![]() Talking about his father upset her, but not in the manner that widows wept over their long gone husbands. She did not seem to harbour warm feelings towards his father, though Jon only deduced this from her refusal to talk about him. He would not have believed her if he did not see her wield it herself when a handful of men who tried to carry it struggled to do so. There was a time when he suspected that perhaps it was his father’s once, but his mother only reprimanded him for thinking a woman could not wield a weapon. The amusing thing was, the sword came from his mother. It was the one perk of being a huntsman, no one ever questioned why he was armed. Patting the sheathed sword that was strapped around his waist, the young man was confident enough in his ability to fend for himself if the situation called for it. Jon lit a lantern for himself before deciding to venture back to town with his horse, Shadow, in tow. The sky was then a dark blue, blanketed by countless stars that twinkled as the moon hung high above them. For all his dear mother’s efforts, Jon had no experience regarding the fey and their courts to form even a semblance of belief that seemed to dictate every decision his neighbours ever made in their day to day life. His mother did not fear the fae in the manner that many of their neighbours did she even attempted to instill this same love in him by telling bedtime stories of her misadventures with the little elves that played with her in the outskirts of the forest and the pixies that whisked her off to a beautiful dreamland in her sleep. ![]() ![]() He was not a particularly superstitious sort of lad despite growing up with a mother who had a special fascination with the Otherworld. Only Jon Snow dared to walk outdoors and sulk amidst the green grass that grew from the hills to the cliff that overlooked the crashing waves of the dark blue sea. Would the Lord of Terror bring with him the weary spirits of the dead to haunt the village? Or would one of the fae learn your name and whisk you away to be their slave for as long as you lived? They feared what would come in the night. Hardly a single person left their cottage past noon, unsettled by the chance that they would be welcoming bad luck into their homes should they leave their windows and doors open. The women of the town whispered that it was not a good omen. It was cold for an autumn day, the sky a hazy orange that bordered on red.
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