The silence in the camp was high. Thousands of eyes tracked my every movement as I stood near the command tent, the steam still rising in thin, wispy curls from my blackened fur. The Northerners didn't move. They stood with their hands on their spear shafts, their knuckles white, watching the Beast like men waiting for a lightning strike.
A low, vibrating rumble pulled my attention toward the shadow of the main tent.
Grey Wind stepped out. He was massive for a wolf, his grey fur bristling and his yellow eyes locked onto mine. He didn't bark. He moved in a slow arc, his claws digging into the soft turf as he tried to find a weakness in my stance.
I didn't move. I didn't need to show my teeth to prove what I was. I simply stood my ground, my head held level with his. I let the internal heat in my chest flare, just a fraction. The air between us began to shimmer as the dry fire rolled off me in a wave.
Grey Wind stopped mid-stride. He sniffed the air, his nose twitching. He looked at my size, the six-foot height, the sheer, crushing mass of muscle and then at the heat radiating from my skin. He wasn't a mindless animal. He felt the power coming off me, something told his instinct not to engage this familiar presence.
The hair along his spine smoothed down. He let out a soft, sharp whine and lowered his head, moving his weight back in a clear sign of concession. He stepped to the side, clearing the path to the tent, and watched me with a wary respect he always had for me.
The tension in the camp didn't disappear seeing Young Wolf's shadow accepted me rather it grew.
...
I nudged Ned's hand with my muzzle. He was leaning on Robb's shoulder, his face couldn't hide his exhaustion. I could feel my own strength flagging. The river crossing and the weight of the riders had bottomed out my stamina. I needed to eat.
I turned away from the command tent and trotted toward the dark line of the woods. No one tried to stop me. The men at the edge of the camp practically fell over themselves to get out of my way as I vanished into the brush.
The Riverlands were my hunting ground now. I used [Detection], my mind mapping the heartbeats in the dark. About two miles north, a large bull elk was moving through a stand of birch.
I didn't hunt with the patience of a dog. I moved with the directness of a landslide. I caught the elk in a small clearing, my weight crushing it into the dirt before it could even turn its head. I didn't cook the meat. I tore into it, the raw, feeling the blood and the dense protein of the muscle flowing back into my system. I ate until my stomach was heavy and the dull ache in my joints began to fade.
By the time I returned to the camp, the moon was high. The whispers followed me through the rows of tents.
"The Lion-Wolf," a man muttered, his voice shaking. "I saw him... the fire in his eyes."
I ignored them. I walked straight to the large, grey command tent where the light of a dozen candles flickered against the canvas. I pushed the flap aside with my head and stepped in.
The space was cramped. And what annoyed me was the sour breath of men who hadn't slept in days. Ned was sitting at the head of a massive oak table while Robb, Catelyn, and a dozen Northern lords including Umber, Karstark, Bolton were huddled around a map of the Trident.
"The crossing is the problem," Robb said, his finger tapping the parchment. "If we're to surprise Lannister at Riverrun, we have to move now. But the only way over the Green Fork is here. The Twins."
Ned frowned, his eyes fixed on the twin towers marked on the map. "Walder Frey."
Then my mind flashed to images of the Stark camp burning and Catelyn's throat being opened in a hall full of laughing Freys.
A low, guttural growl tore out of my throat.
The sound was tectonic. It shook the heavy iron map-weights on the table and sent half the lords reaching for their sword hilts. The Greatjon scrambled back, nearly knocking over a chair, his face turning a mottled red as he stared at me.
Ned didn't flinch, but his brow furrowed. He turned his head, his eyes searching mine. He saw the way my hackles were raised, the way I was staring at the marks on the map with hatred.
"Red?" Ned asked softly. He reached out, his hand resting firmly on the thick fur of my shoulder. He could feel my anger through his palm. "What is it?"
He looked from me to the map, then back again. He was trying to bridge the gap, trying to understand what the beast was trying to tell him.
I didn't back down. I stepped closer to the table, my shadow falling across the Riverlands, my eyes locked onto Ned's. I needed him to see that the Twins was a trap.
But in the end what choice do I have?