A village. Some hope blooms bright within her but it's quickly tempered down; how close are they to Winterfell? The snow is thick and heavy, and with the onset of winter she knows it would not be like this if she's halfway to Moat Cailin. Snow is quick to fall in the North, and Ramsay's men could very well be on her heels.
"Forgive my questions, please," she asks, eyeing the bow on the woman's back and the hammer on her belt. Strange, bright-coloured articles protect her hands and hair; maybe they are further from the castle, but she has to be sure. She doesn't even know how she got here. "But how far is the village from Winterfell?"
Should she approach? Lady isn't lunging, but she hasn't calmed either. More than anything she doesn't want to cause injury to another person; she will be remembered, and she doesn't want to be remembered if the men hunting her come by this way.
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"Forgive my questions, please," she asks, eyeing the bow on the woman's back and the hammer on her belt. Strange, bright-coloured articles protect her hands and hair; maybe they are further from the castle, but she has to be sure. She doesn't even know how she got here. "But how far is the village from Winterfell?"
Should she approach? Lady isn't lunging, but she hasn't calmed either. More than anything she doesn't want to cause injury to another person; she will be remembered, and she doesn't want to be remembered if the men hunting her come by this way.