1st Winter [Action]

[aryaunderfoot]

[Early this morning, somewhere deep in the woods, there is a wolf howling.

It's a long, mournful howl, and the wolf doesn't seem to want to stop. Occasionally, she'll pause for breath, and then throw her head back again after a moment's rest. This place isn't right. Her cousins aren't here, the smaller ones of her pack. The air is too warm, too full of the smells of spring. And the more she searches, the more she howls, trying to get some sort of answer out of these unfamiliar trees.

Around mid-morning, the crumpled form of a small girl can be found on the path leading from the village to the Battle Dome. She's not hurt, just very much asleep (and scrunching up her face with each wolf howl) and very much covered in grime (and smelling faintly of fish cart). And there's also the fact that she's in a New Feather dress. As the howling reaches a higher pitch, she awakes with a start, freezes, and tries to figure out what this place is. There's a chill in the air, yes, but it isn't winter building up to full strength. It can't be the Summer Islands, and it most definitely isn't Braavos. This place...

...is less concerning than the fact that there is a journal right next to her with "Arya Stark" printed right on it. She gives it an incredulous look for a moment before deciding that this must be a test of some kind. The kindly man must be behind it. With a shake of the head, the girl stands, pushes the journal with a foot until it's tucked out of sight under a nearby bush, and then turns back to the task at hand.

And tries to ignore the mournful howling that is practically tugging her in its direction. That's not something she needs to worry about. That was Arya Stark. Not her. She's nobody.]

[With so many things glaringly wrong with this place, she figures it's time to try scoping it out. The girl very cautiously approaches the village, keeping to the trees for cover until she's sure there aren't any Lannister banners flying anywhere. When there aren't any, it isn't much consolation; the buildings are huge, and the architecture isn't anything she's ever seen before. This place may not be full of lions, but it's not exactly a safe zone, either. She's not even sure what it is.

Eventually, she finds her way into town, going around to see what exactly there is to see here. She doubts she'll spot any familiar faces, but she still makes her way through all the shops in the main square, trying to get some kind of sense of what kind of town this is. The smith shop is familiar, the fashions in the clothing shop completely outlandish, the foods in the indoor marketplace entirely alien.

And she is so, so very lost. As she makes her way through town, the old phrase starts repeating in the back of her mind: Fear cuts deeper than swords. She can do this. She has to do this.

Towards nightfall, after much exploration and poking around, the girl makes her way back to the stables she passed by at some point. The horses are horses. That much is familiar, at least. This much she can understand completely. And the familiar, earthy, horsey smells are something of a comfort when you're trying to wrap your head around what in the world happened to bring you to a place such as this.]

[[ooc: Feel free to run into her at any point!]]

Comments

[greenjacketed]

Small enough to be called small. [ said the rifleman who easily stood at six foot with an inch or two to spare. ]

[aryaunderfoot]

[You tall people, always making fun of her.] That doesn't mean I'm weak.

[greenjacketed]

...Didn't say that, Cat. Just said you was small. The word 'weak' didn't even cross these lips, so help me God.

[aryaunderfoot]

[Only one god in that. Mental note taken. Probably the Lord of Light whose name she still can't pronounce quite right. Still, her injured pride seems to soften a bit as she relaxes.]

Most people say it like they think I can't take care of myself.

[Except in the cases of two certain bastards, who really only did it to irritate her.]

[greenjacketed]

...How old are you, Cat? 'Cause I reckon you can't be much more'n thirteen.

[ and sharpe had been looking after himself well before that age. but he leaves his reasoning vague: ] I've known lads and lasses as young as that who needed very little looking after.

[ though -- he reflects -- they (and he) might have benefited from it all the same. now that he is himself a father and a grown man, he feels a pang for the young ones left alone. he'd felt it while visiting the orphanage in copenhagan, too. ]

[aryaunderfoot]

I'm twelve. [Maybe. So many lifetimes have passed since she was nine, she's not even sure anymore. It's close enough, anyway.]

There were a lot of us looking after ourselves where I came from.

[Although she's not sure Hot Pie counts anymore. Or if he ever did. He wasn't very good at keeping himself alive without help.]

[greenjacketed]

Us, as well. When I was your age and size. Well. Maybe a little bigger, even then. [ this bit of teasing is delivered with a cheeky smirk. ]

Still, this place ain't filled with as many rogues and villains as where I'm from. Or if it is, they've as good as lost their claws. Oh, there are folks to avoid -- but mostly, folk here are too kind for their own good.

Take the smithy lad, eh? I hear he works for favours.

[aryaunderfoot]

[She frowns at the teasing, but doesn't rise to the bait. The rest of that is too useful information to miss.]

What kind of favors? [Thoughtful pause.] And is he any good? At what he makes, I mean.

[greenjacketed]

...Depends on what you can do, I suppose. Though I suspect he don't cash in too often.

[ a half-shrug. sharpe once again gestures to his own sword. ] He's bloody great at it, lass. If you'll pardon the language. He didn't make this old thing, but he keeps it well-sharpened.

[aryaunderfoot]

[Arya gives a shrug of her own at the "pardon the language." Braavos has taught her far worse than that.]

What's his name?

[greenjacketed]

Sokka. Though some call him Thunderaxe, including hisself.

[aryaunderfoot]

[Not the stupid bull, then, unless he's gotten significantly better at picking fake names. But that's fine. Besides, "Thunderaxe" sounds pretty impressive, she has to admit. Which raises an important question.]

Does he actually deserve a name like Thunderaxe? Some names are too big for their bearers.

[Like "Lion's Tooth".]

[greenjacketed]

...He don't do too badly for himself on the field, I don't think. [ sharpe had never really watched sokka closely, but he had an impression that the lad was a warrior type. ] Though I've seen no thunderous axes yet.

[aryaunderfoot]

[A faint smile tugs at the corners of her mouth, but she refuses to let that show any more than it already has.]

Maybe he's hiding it.

[Which is stupid, if you're going to tout around a nickname like that, but that just makes it funnier somehow.]

[greenjacketed]

Saving it for a surprise, eh?

[ he reconsiders the girl. ] Tell us what you want in a blade, lass. I'll make certain Sokka provides it.

[ because sharpe isn't sure how readily sokka would arm a child. maybe it would be no problem for him and maybe it would be. but he made the offer all the same. ]

[aryaunderfoot]

[She wants Needle. Another blade would be helpful, yes, but it's Needle that's important. It's not just any blade. Sharpe seems like a good enough man, odd and uncanny resemblance to her father aside, but he's not Jon and the blade won't be Needle. She bites her lip for a moment, uncertain if she should even bother.

Any blade is better than none, though, and she shouldn't pass up the opportunity.]

I'm much better with thin blades than with heavier longswords. The kind made for stabbing instead of slashing.

[And, obviously, something a little shorter is easier for her to wield, but she's not about to feed him more ammunition for poking at her height.]

[greenjacketed]

Aye. My men carry sword-bayonets what function similarly to that. But we'll see what can be arranged, eh?

[aryaunderfoot]

[Small nod.]

You could always tell him I'm a boy, if it would help. Half the time, people think I am one anyway.

[...maaaybe not the most helpful, but it's worth a shot, right.]

[greenjacketed]

[ he takes the girl in with a quick glance, judging the usefulness of such a ruse. and he can see it now -- the ways in which had he not been paying close attention, he might have mistaken her as well. ]

There are plenty of women who fight, in these parts. [ it's a concept he's still getting used to, but he reports on it all the same. ] So I figure you'll not have to lie about your sex to get a blade. Your age, maybe.

[aryaunderfoot]

[Well, that's a first. Arya looks a little surprised for a second or so. At least, until she wrinkles up her nose and frowns at the strangeness of age being a problem for once.]

Twelve's old enough for a blade.

[That number might not be exactly right, but it's close enough.]

[greenjacketed]

They're well soft on childhood, y'see? [ and frankly, sharpe could be as well. but only on account of his own. and never so soft that he wouldn't arm a youngster. ] Like they think a child should be coddled until they're too old to learn anything anymore.

[aryaunderfoot]

[She shakes her head.] That's stupid. That just means nobody is actually ready when something terrible starts to happen.

[They try to yield to brutal killers like it's some kind of game being played. Lommy and Hot Pie might have learned trades, but they never learned a thing about how to survive.]

[greenjacketed]

My thoughts and fears exactly, Cat.

[aryaunderfoot]

[She bites her lip absently, glancing down at a row of daggers and knives.]

Then they should listen to you. Instead of being so soft.

[greenjacketed]

[ a short laugh. ]

Oh. Lass. They don't listen to me. I'm just an old soldier what can't even speak so prettily as them. They see nothing to take seriously.