Robb Stark rode south with fifteen Winterfell knights, hunting down Ramsay Snow.
Accompanying him was his ten-year-old sister, Arya Stark. With such a cruel murderer roaming the North, preying on women, their father was deeply concerned for Arya's safety as she traveled to King's Landing to study at the magical School. Thus, he entrusted Robb with escorting her south.
Greywater Watch marked the southernmost edge of the North, lying on the fringes of the Neck. At the exit leading south, Robb and his men conducted thorough inspections of travelers, each knight holding a sketch of Ramsay Snow to compare against passersby.
Meera Reed, daughter of the Lord of Greywater Watch, joined the hunt, accompanied by two House Reed knights.
Robb frowned. "We're under orders to track down a criminal. Why are you tagging along, Meera?"
Meera Reed smirked. "I'm heading to King's Landing to visit my brother. Might as well help you find your man—we've got three hunting hounds."
Their fathers, Eddard Stark and Howland Reed, had fought side by side at the Tower of Joy and survived, forging a bond stronger than blood. Robb and Meera had known each other since childhood and were quite familiar.
The three hounds strained at their leashes, barking wildly at Arya, who instinctively brandished her short sword to ward them off.
Robb sighed. "Be careful. This man is ruthless and cunning. And get those dogs away—my sister's carrying a small crate with five direwolf pups inside."
Meera gestured for the two dog handlers to take the hounds away. Then, approaching Arya, she lifted the cloth covering the small crate. Inside, five fluffy little creatures lay curled together, lifting their heads to gaze at her.
"Direwolves?" Meera exclaimed. "Robb, how are there direwolves south of the Wall?"
Robb kept his eyes on the passing travelers as he replied, "Father says winter is coming, and many animals are moving south. With all the livestock in the North, a direwolf mother must have settled under Winterfell's walls and birthed her litter there. The castle's plentiful livestock kept her fed, so she didn't leave. At first, no one noticed, but when livestock numbers began dwindling, Father sent men to investigate. The mother wolf fled, leaving the pups behind."
Meera shook her head. "Your family is insane, keeping direwolves. Aren't you afraid they'll attack people?"
Arya interjected proudly, "House Baratheon keeps dragons over two hundred meters long. What's a few fluffy direwolves? Besides, Master Renly said our bloodline carries the skinchanger gift, and raising a beast helps awaken it. Father even wanted to tame the mother wolf, but she escaped, so we're raising the pups instead."
Robb added, "Each of us siblings took one—mine, Arya's, Sansa's, Jon's, and Ashara's. There are still a few more in Winterfell."
The Reeds were expert hunters and skilled in training dogs. Meera pulled a cloth pouch from her belt and handed it to Arya. "Here, dried meat. Tear it into smaller pieces to feed the pups."
As they spoke, a cart carrying human waste trundled out of the city.
Such carts provided ideal hiding spots. Robb immediately drew his sword and shouted, "Stop that cart!"
Unlike cargo carts, waste carts were nailed shut with wooden planks, with only two openings: one at the top for dumping waste and one at the bottom, sealed with a wooden plug, for emptying the contents in the wilderness.
The laborers pulling the cart raised their hands in fear. "M'lord, we've done nothing wrong!"
Those in this line of work always covered their faces with rough cloths, just like the silent sisters who handled corpses.
Robb and his men yanked down their masks one by one, comparing their faces against the wanted poster. The men were thin and sickly, with sallow complexions—none bore any resemblance to Ramsay Snow.
"Search the cart!" Robb commanded, climbing onto the top.
The knights checked beneath the cart, searched compartments under the driver's seat, and inspected every possible hiding spot—but found nothing.
Robb used his sword to pry open the wooden lid of the cart's cargo hold. Inside, murky yellow-green sludge floated in steaming filth.
"Let them go."
There were still many more carts to inspect, and Robb decided to abandon this one.
As the waste cart rumbled away from Greywater Watch and disappeared into the distance, a thin reed stem gently swayed through a crack in the wooden planks. Beneath the filth, Ramsay Snow slowly emerged, the hollow reed clutched between his lips as a breathing tube. He wiped the excrement from his eyes, drew the dagger strapped to his leg, and prepared to crawl out of the cart.
---
The Night King was lost in memories, recollections of events from countless years past—stories the other White Walkers had once told him.
The White Walkers, mounted on their ice spiders, had once roamed the frozen expanse of the North, clashing with various races in battle.
The Night King had ordered them to disperse. Those closest to human settlements were forbidden from launching direct attacks, instead tasked only with pressuring the humans into offering more infants.
He had come to understand a fundamental truth: wights, by their nature, could only rely on sheer numbers to fight ordinary men. But against mages, only White Walkers, wielding their own magic, could prevail.
The Walkers feared dragonglass and Valyrian steel, while humans could be slain with mere stones or wooden clubs—far more fragile. Humans had metal armor, but the White Walkers had armor of ice. Each Walker possessed magic, yet their greatest weakness was their limited mobility. They could unleash bursts of incredible speed and agility, but afterward, their bodies would grow numb with cold, slowing them down for extended periods.
If they could harness ice spiders, however, that weakness would be greatly diminished.
Alone, the Night King pressed northward, while the others led their wight hordes in different directions, spreading out in search. Through his magic, he maintained a distant connection with his Walkers, guiding them deeper into the farthest reaches of the North.
Here, the land was devoid of coniferous forests, yet life still thrived—animals draped in snowy white fur, masters of concealment.
One White Walker, braving the howling blizzard, scaled a rocky slope. The storm did nothing to obscure its vision; from that vantage, it scanned the vast expanse, searching for the path farther north.
Just as it determined its direction and moved to step forward, its right foot refused to budge. It was stuck.
Lowering its icy spear, the Walker slashed at the ground beneath its foot. The surface was not rock at all—the cut revealed layers of silken threads woven together. The gray-black hue was mere camouflage. It was a hunting web.
The Night King, watching through his magical connection, observed the discovery.
Even if they found no living ice spiders, the remains alone would be enough. A corpse could still be raised as a mount.
Before long, every White Walker began converging toward the Night King's position.