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Chapter Nineteen: The Hunt.
The chill of the Wolfswood lingered in the air, heavy with the scent of pine and damp earth. Shafts of morning light broke through the thick canopy, casting golden beams across the forest floor. Leaves crunched beneath boots as Dacey Stark followed Jon Snow deeper into the woods, their breath visible in the crisp air.
Ahead of them, Robb Stark and Theon Greyjoy moved with confident strides, laughter echoing between the trees. Jory Cassel and his men had split off from the group earlier, leading the main hunting party in search of game for the upcoming harvest feast. This year, Jon and Robb had joined the hunt for the first time, their excitement palpable.
Dacey had insisted on accompanying them to make sure they didn't get themselves killed.
So far, the morning had been uneventful—until Theon came bustling back toward them, a wide grin plastered across his face.
"I saw a big stag!" Theon announced, eyes gleaming with excitement. "Massive antlers, bigger than any I've seen. This way!"
Without waiting for a response, Theon took off through the underbrush, Robb laughing as he followed.
Dacey frowned, her hand tightening on the hilt of her sword.
"I don't trust that squid," she muttered under her breath.
Jon glanced at her curiously. "Why not?"
Dacey sighed, her voice low and firm. "He struts around Winterfell like he owns the place, with that stupid grin plastered on his face. He's a ward, not a lord, but you wouldn't know it by the way he acts."
Jon smirked faintly. "He does have a certain swagger."
"And he leers at me when he thinks I'm not looking," Dacey added, her voice edged with irritation.
Jon's expression darkened.
"How does Robb not see it?" Dacey asked, shaking her head. "He treats Theon like a brother."
Jon's voice was quiet but thoughtful. "We're often blind to the faults of those close to us."
Dacey studied Jon for a moment, seeing the weight of wisdom beyond his years in his grey eyes. Before she could respond, movement ahead drew their attention.
The woods fell silent as they crested a small rise and spotted the stag Theon had spoken of.
It was magnificent, its antlers sharp and proud, though blood stained its hide from a wound along its flank. But the stag was not alone.
A grey female direwolf, larger than any wolf Dacey had ever seen, circled the stag, her teeth bared in a fierce snarl.
The wolf was heavy with pups, her belly round and swollen, but she moved with lethal grace despite her exhaustion. Her fur bristled, streaked with dirt and dried blood.
Robb and Dacey froze in shock at the sight.
Theon, however, let out a laugh. "Well, there's luck for you! We can bring back both the stag and the direwolf!"
Theon's hand moved to his sword.
Dacey's stomach churned at his callousness. The direwolf was clearly exhausted, fighting for survival. But the stag, despite its injury, saw its chance.
With a bellowing roar, it lowered its antlers and charged the weakened direwolf.
Time seemed to slow.
Jon moved before anyone else could react.
His hand blurred as he drew the weirwood bow slung across his back, nocked an arrow, and let it fly in one fluid motion.
The arrow struck true, burying itself in the stag's hind leg. The beast stumbled, its charge faltering.
The direwolf seized the opportunity, surging forward with renewed ferocity. Her powerful jaws clamped down on the stag's throat, ripping it open in one swift, brutal motion.
The stag thrashed briefly before collapsing to the ground, lifeless.
Silence descended over the forest, broken only by the heavy panting of the direwolf.
Robb and Theon stood frozen, processing what had just happened.
Dacey's heart raced as she turned to Jon, who was already moving toward the direwolf.
The massive creature, too tired to run or fight, watched him warily.
Dacey's instincts screamed for her to stop him, but something in Jon's calm demeanor made her hesitate.
Jon knelt a few paces from the direwolf, his grey eyes steady. He closed his eyes, his brow furrowing in concentration.
Dacey's breath caught as she felt a strange hum in the air, subtle but ancient, like the whisper of the old gods through the trees.
Jon's magic reached out, brushing against the direwolf's mind. He conveyed a simple message: I am a friend. There is no danger.
The direwolf's wariness melted away. She let out a low whine, her body relaxing as Jon extended a hand and gently stroked her thick fur. The wolf melted into his touch, trusting him completely.
Dacey and the others broke out of their shock.
"Jon, get away from it!" Dacey called, her voice tight with worry.
"It's alright," Jon assured her calmly, his hand still on the direwolf's head.
Dacey exchanged a glance with Robb, who looked equally bewildered.
Theon, for once, was speechless.
Jon rose slowly, the direwolf at his side. "We'll take the stag back to Winterfell—and the wolf too."
Dacey hesitated. "Are you sure that's wise?"
Jon's expression was resolute. "She's coming with me."
There was no arguing with that tone.
With little effort, Jon hoisted the stag's massive carcass onto a makeshift sled. The direwolf walked beside Jon, her head held high despite her weariness.
The sight was surreal, and when they returned to Winterfell, every head turned to gawk at the enormous wolf padding alongside Jon Snow.
Servants and guards alike murmured in shock, their voices hushed.
Ned Stark himself emerged from the Great Hall, his brow furrowing as he took in the sight.
Jon met his gaze steadily, the direwolf at his side.
Dacey knew there would be questions—and consequences—but for now, all she could think was how the sight of Jon and the grey wolf seemed... right, as though fate had woven them together.
And the North would remember this day.