Ghost was conscious again two days later. She found herself locked inside a cage, in a place that was warm but reeked of urine.
The arrow wound on her body had been properly cleaned and bandaged. Outside the cage stood a neat row of wooden stalls filled with stacks of hay. Several magnificent, high-spirited steeds were leisurely pacing and eating grass.
The stable looked reasonably clean, but the smell of the horses was too much for her to bear, and she sneezed several times in a row.
She vaguely remembered being rescued before she lost consciousness, but she had been out of it at the time and couldn't remember whether she had been in wolf form or human form...
Judging by this, she must have been in wolf form, right?
The cage was quite spacious, furnished with clean water and a rabbit that was desperately shrinking into the corner...
Ghost: "?"
A live rabbit? A buffet?
It seemed her life wasn't in immediate danger. However, there was no guarantee the captors didn't want an intact wolf pelt.
Ghost thought with a sense of unease, her paws instinctively pulling the fluffy rabbit into her arms to hug it.
The poor rabbit had frozen in fright.
She had too many secrets. Take this injury, for instance—she could already feel an itchy, tingling sensation coming from the wound, and she knew without looking that it had already begun to heal.
Well, she would just pretend to be an ordinary little doggie and see how things played out first.
Footsteps gradually sounded from outside, one heavy, one brisk. Then a light, vibrant voice rang out:"Orwulf, is it awake? Has it eaten anything yet?"
"Not yet. You can go and have a look at it first."
Ghost felt a little nervous and instinctively hugged the rabbit in his arms tighter.
A crisp, ethereal fragrance gradually drifted to his nose. The scent grew stronger as a dashing and beautiful young lady stepped through the doorway.
The girl was at that transitional stage, shedding the awkwardness of early youth and blossoming toward maturity. Her figure was not yet fully womanly, but her curves were already exquisitely defined.
She was taller than the average girl, standing a full 170 centimeters, with legs as long and straight as chopsticks. Dressed in a sharp hunting outfit, her chest heaved slightly.Her dark brown, long hair draped softly down her back, framing deep eye sockets and grey-blue eyes that resembled clear, translucent crystals. Her nose was small and high-bridged, and her lips possessed a pale pink hue.
Strangely enough, streaks of burgundy were woven through her hair, catching the eye like modern highlights.
Though she possessed the characteristically sharp, elongated face of House Stark, her delicate facial features and exquisitely curved physique seemed as though painted by an artist.
Overall, she bore a striking resemblance to the actress Ghost had liked in her past life—the female lead from Twilight.
Ghost stared in a daze, completely captivated by this type of aggressively striking beauty.
Lyanna Stark, however, found the scene before her immensely amusing.Ghost lay on his side, his large, wet eyes wide open, while a pitiful rabbit struggled desperately between his paws. He gave his big tail a vigorous wag, looking altogether silly, cute, and endearing.
Lyanna burst out laughing. Pointing at the tail-wagging white wolf, she turned and asked, "Orwulf, are you sure this is a wolf?"
Orwulf looked somewhat bewildered. If it looked like this, being a dog wouldn't be surprising at all. Yet he had clearly confirmed with Maester Luwin that this was a genuine, authentic wolf.
Still, a wolf that didn't eat rabbits and instead played with them? A wolf that wagged its tail?
In all his years, he had never seen such a thing.
Orwulf was starting to get confused himself. He slowly shuffled over to the cage to get a closer look.
The faint, sweet fragrance of ice-blue roses was instantly overwhelmed by the stench of various animal feces and urine, almost knocking Ghost out cold.
Never in his life had Ghost hated his acute sense of smell so much.
He sprang up abruptly, baring his jaws in a ferocious snarl as he roared at Orwulf. But the movement pulled at his injuries, and with a yelp, he collapsed limply.
Orwulf jumped in fright and scrambled backward in a panic. Lyanna, however, laughed even more merrily. "It dislikes you, Orwulf. But it likes me."
Lyanna crouched down, slowly drew closer to Ghost, and then extended a hand.
Orwulf turned pale with terror. "Lady Lyanna, it's dangerous!"
"Shh..." Lyanna smiled, gently approaching Ghost inside the cage. "Little darling, my name is Lyanna."
Ghost was stunned. She was Lyanna Stark? Ned Stark's sister, Jon Snow's actual mother?
Such a pretty young lady, looking only about thirteen or fourteen years old. Was she going to die in less than three years?
Lyanna was certain she saw a trace of human-like emotion in Ghost's large, wet eyes.
It seemed a bit sad. Was it because it was locked in a cage? She couldn't help soothing Ghost even more softly. "When you're healed, I'll let you out. How does that sound?"
As if able to understand her words, the white wolf let out a soft whimper. Its snout slowly edged closer to Lyanna's hand.
Heart pounding with anxiety, Orwulf wanted to stop her, yet he was afraid of startling the white wolf and causing a disaster. Sweat poured from him like rain as he stood there in pure tension.
Human and wolf exchanged a look of mutual affection, and Ghost extended his tongue to lick Lyanna's hand.
Delighted, Lyanna leaned closer and gently stroked Ghost's head. "Look, Orwulf, it's so well-behaved!"
Orwulf let out a sigh of relief as well, though doubts crept into his mind. Could it really not be a wolf? Was it just a dog?
Perhaps he should go find the maester and confirm it again.
Ghost's spirits were not very high; after playing with Lyanna for a short while, he closed his eyes and fell asleep.
Looking thoughtful, Lyanna said, "The environment here isn't very good. What do you say we move it to my room to recover?"Orwulf felt a bitter taste in his mouth, thinking to himself that they had just moved the creature over from her room, and moving it back now was just making a mockery of him... a mockery of the wolf, at least.
Besides, no matter how much this thing acted like a dog, it was still a wolf—a wild and dangerous animal.
Eric spoke up with difficulty, trying to persuade her: "My lady, its injuries... wouldn't it be better to wait a few more days before moving it?"
Glancing at the poor rabbit being treated like a toy, Orwulf had a flash of inspiration. "It doesn't seem like ordinary wolves, my lady. Why don't you go down to the kitchen and see if there's any food it likes?"
Lyanna clapped her hands. "You're right, it needs to eat more." And she bolted away like the wind.
Orwulf wiped the cold sweat from his brow. He could never keep Lady Lyanna in line; in all of Winterfell, only Lord Rickard and his lady wife could manage her.
Orwulf decided to go see the lord immediately.
Lyanna had the scullery maids gather a mountain of food—roast beef, brown bread, roasted onions, apples, and plenty of raw meat and chicken—and tried feeding them to Ghost one by one.
Ghost had been starved for a long time, and upon seeing human food, it made short work of the meal without the slightest hesitation.
The kitchen maid looked in astonishment at the bloody scraps of meat left behind, and asked in puzzlement, "Lady Lyanna, is it a dog or a wolf? I've never seen an animal that likes human food."
With its belly full, Ghost promptly went back to a deep sleep, while Lyanna stood there with a strange expression, pondering the maid's words.
Wolf or dog, was it truly an animal? Was it a *he*? Or a *she*?
Back in her room, Lyanna was still turning the question over in her mind, her brain constantly replaying the cry for help she had heard and the circumstances of that moment.
"Lyanna..." A deep voice interrupted her thoughts. It was her father, Rickard.
Rickard Stark was draped in a heavy cloak of bear fur, beneath which he wore an old jacket patched together from soft animal hides and wool.
"Orwulf tells me you've already tamed that white wolf. That's good," he said with a look of gratification. "As expected of my daughter."
Lyanna stared blankly at Rickard Stark's weather-beaten face, suddenly realizing that the tall, unyielding father of her memories was beginning to show his age.
"Father..." Lyanna asked hesitatingly, "Am I really going to marry Robert Baratheon?"
Rickard sighed inwardly. Though the North was desolate and vast, it was far removed from the treacherous, scheming badlands of the South, and his children had been raised well.
Integrity, honor, bravery—these were all fine virtues. Yet, much like their father, they lacked a proper grasp of the continent's grand strategy.
Even he himself had only been awakened to it by his dear friend, Lord Jon Arryn of the Vale.
If the North could stay out of it forever, far from the whirlpool of power, he would gladly let his daughter find a husband of her own choosing, and let Ned wander the world freely with his sword, becoming the heroic swordsman of singers' tales.
Brandon, too, with his martial prowess and House Stark's prestige, could well shoulder the title of Warden of the North and properly protect his family and lands.
Yet, Westeros was growing more dangerous and chaotic by the day.
The young prince was gradually spreading his wings, and he would no longer content himself with lurking beneath the old king... He was biding his time and gathering his strength.
Ever since the Duskendale Rebellion, King Aerys had grown increasingly foolish and mad. People could scarcely wait to see their beloved prince ascend the Iron Throne.
Yet would King Aerys stand idly by while the young prince's power grew and he successfully claimed the throne?
The Lannisters, the Spider, the Queen of Thorns... and all those ambitious, vigorous men—would they allow the North to stay out of the storm?
Rickard fell into deep contemplation.
Seeing her father drift off into a trance and remain silent for so long, Lyanna unhappily buried herself beneath the covers.
Rickard snapped back to reality, ultimately choosing not to burden her with things so heavy. Instead, he simply urged her to look on the bright side.
Robert Baratheon might be a bit of a womanizer, but he was a loyal and brave knight whose character was trustworthy. As for his lacking administrative skills, she could help him, couldn't she?
Lyanna simply pulled the quilt over her head, thinking with bitter resentment that he didn't understand at all.
Rickard spoke further on the state of House Baratheon and the Stormlands, but Lyanna offered no response. With a sigh, he tucked in the corners of her blanket and walked away.
Lyanna thought back to the dream she had experienced; no matter how she tried, she could not believe that the man was that oaf Robert.
Yet she also felt utterly lost. Although there were boys in the lordship who held secret crushes on her, she had never met anyone who truly stirred her heart. Aside from marrying the union her father had chosen, what else could she do?
Beneath Winterfell, besides the crypts of the Kings of Winter, lay many precious documents and secret records dating back thousands of years.
Maester Luwin, having received Lord Rickard's permission, had already spent two days immersed in the texts within the subterranean archives.
His young apprentices had long since collapsed onto the floor, fast asleep.
It was not until he leafed through records dating back two thousand years that Maester Luwin finally uncovered a few traces.
Accounts from a millennium ago concerning the Children of the Forest, green magic, and skinchangers...
As well as the King of Warg Wolves and the power of the Old Gods.