Chapter 60

The distance they had traversed slowly over the past two days was covered by sunset. The bends of the valley quickly passed by. No one said anything about caution. Any fears of meeting the enemy to the east went unspoken. They simply had to flee from the west.

Glancing up, Tiresias caught the trail by which they had descended into the valley. Macha had already led them past two calm points in the river. They wouldn't cross over. They wouldn't take the mountain pass home. Speed was their priority.

But their speed was limited. Gared called out to the front and Macha pulled the caravan to a halt. Tiresias didn't have to hear them speaking to guess what was happening. He had heard Karsi's heart weakening the whole day.

Macha spoke to Benjen and Tormund, who turned to the others.

"Everyone rest," he called.

No one hesitated to dismount. Benjen, Macha and Tormund gathered around Karsi. He stayed back for now. His legs ached like mad and he could hardly walk. Gently he touched his cheek. The wound there was clotting already. It didn't sting or itch either.

Why don't you touch it more with your bare hand? That'll help it heal, won't it?

Lowering his hand, he glanced back to the wight. As much as he wanted to give his steed a break from its undead baggage, they would ride again soon enough. It would take too much effort to tie them down again. 

Gared and Kober had taken the task of managing the wight-laden horses. After a pull of water, he left them and stalked over to Karsi.

She was pale. Far too pale. Tormund lifted a skin to her lips, but most of the water escaped down the horse's side. Macha felt under the black cloak, checking the wound.

"Do we need more bandages?" Tiresias asked under his breath. Hoping Karsi wouldn't hear him.

Macha didn't play along and spoke normally. "More bandages won't replace the blood she lost. The horse is no good for her as well. Best chance she has to lay still with a healer."

Her eyes matched Tormund's and Benjen's. It was an impossible suggestion and they knew it. They couldn't stop riding. Couldn't stop racing. Not until they reached Castle Black.

Benjen placed a hand on his shoulder. "Would you stay with her, Tiresias? The rest of us need to talk."

Tiresias nodded, with no inclination to be offended. He was no Free Folk or black brother. Besides, he wasn't the important one right now. He supposed none of them were.

As Tormund, Macha and Benjen stalked over to the remaining members of their party, Tiresias leaned towards Karsi. Her eyes were barely open, but she was conscious. She blinked slowly and focused on him.

"We've stopped…"

Tiresias nodded. "Aye. Taking a rest. Do you want more water? I have a little dried goat here if you're hungry."

If she had the energy, she would have rolled her eyes. Instead she looked down to the ground.

"You…you lot can't stay…need to move…"

"We will. We just need to rest first."

"Where the others...?"

He jerked his head to the right. "They're off having a chat."

"Deciding what…" She took a breath. A real effort on her part. "Deciding what to do with me?"

Tiresias didn't deny it. He couldn't lie to someone who knew a small part of his truth. Someone dying…

Her face was so pale.

"Are you cold?"

"No…I'm not. Funny…" Sighing, she met his eyes. "I always wanted…to die by the sea."

You did…you were torn and bloodied by them last time too…

Memories of Hardhome flooded his mind. But he didn't speak of them. It seemed useless and cruel. He merely stood silent. Karsi shut her eyes, breathing deeply.

"This river's nice…but it's no sea…No waves…"

Was there any point to telling her to stop talking? To save her strength? There didn't seem to be. Tiresias reached for her hand. Her eyes widened slightly, but he felt her fingers close weakly around his. The Milkwater burbled lightly past them.

"Do you…hear them coming?"

"They're still off talking."

"No…not them…them…do you…hear them coming?"

He turned to the west. The sun was beginning to fall quickly beneath the horizon. Their increased speed left tracks in the snow. No smoke from where they had burned Qhorin. They'd traveled far past that. Not far enough though…

"Nothing." He looked back to her. The rest of their companions were coming back. "No one's behind us."

"Not yet," Karsi grunted. Her grip tightened. "You can't…can't fuck about here…they'll be here…they'll tear you apart…"

The footfalls stopped behind him and he turned to see Benjen and the others, who took alternate looks back at the wights tied behind them. The First Ranger didn't waste any time.

"We're going to split into two groups." He nodded downriver. "The larger group will take the wights along the Milkwater back to the forest, to Castle Black, as planned. The others will take the mountain pass that we took to get here. Come back to the camp a month or so later."

"What for?" Tiresias whispered, though he had a good idea.

"A distraction. False trail for those that will follow. They'll light big fires every night." Benjen exhaled before nodding to Karsi. "When you go, you'll be burned in one of them."

Tiresias forgot that he still held her hand. He turned back to her, but she showed no distress. Her pulse didn't even increase. Granted, perhaps it was too weak to, but her eyes showed no fear. Just a weariness as she sighed.

"Who's taking me?" she mumbled.

He turned back to volunteer, but Benjen cut across him.

"Not you. Not up for debate."

Based on the looks of everyone around him, this was a unanimous decision all around. Still, he had to try.

"I'm not affected by this cold…"

"Shut the fuck up. We don't have time for that." Tormund stepped forward, coming close to his face. "This was your idea, Mountainfall. You say you know what to do with these dead men we caught. You want to leave that knowledge up in these mountains?"

"My brother's going to need all the support he can get when he shows these two to the northern lords, Tiresias," Benjen said quietly. "However meager that support will be, you'll be able to give it. You have a place in Winterfell. None of us can say the same."

It wasn't cowardice. He knew that. It made sense, but it didn't matter. It still shamed him on some level.

"Besides," Macha said, "I'll need your help as we ride back. Your nose and ears will serve us better guarding those two than meandering through the Frostfangs."

She turned to the rest. "And it should be one crow, one wildling that goes. On that, we agree."

Reaching down, she picked up a twig, snapping it in two. After a quick shuffle, she held out her fist to Gared and Clatton for a short stick draw.

"Crows first."

Nobody said it, but with Qhorin dead, as the only other senior ranger present, Benjen couldn't volunteer. Winterfell wouldn't be the only castle in upheaval when they showed their prize. Jeor Mormont needed him back.

Still, Tiresias recognized the look in his eye, the quick exhalation through the nose as he was saved by rank.

Not quite saved. We're not home yet. 

By the time he looked back, the two had already drew their lots. Gared gave a miniscule sigh of relief, visible only to him. Clatton took his lot well enough. He clapped Gared on the shoulder as his mouth lined.

As for the Free Folk, Macha was too valuable a tracker to be a decoy. Their cargo was too sensitive to lose her. So she offered the draw to Tormund and Kober, who promptly pushed both their hands away.

"Fuck that. I'm goin' back up." He glanced back and forth between Tormund and Macha. "Wot? You want to talk 'bout it or you want to go? 'Cause I think we should fuckin' go."

Macha dropped the twigs. "All right then, mount up. All of you. Let's move."

Two minutes later, Tiresias returned to Karsi's side, now on horseback along with the wight in front. Never giving up the fight, it twisted against the bounds relentlessly. He ignored it the best he could as he leaned over.

"Karsi…we're leaving now," he muttered over the creature's gnarled growls.

She moaned. "I wish he'd…wish he'd just shut the fuck up."

"Aye, me too."

The rest of the caravan was almost done mounting up, coming up behind. Clatton rode to her other side, looking ahead to the mountain path. It would be a dark climb.

"Tiresias," Karsi murmured. He leaned back in to hear, forgetting he didn't need to. "Take the cloak…take it back…I know you're warm…but you never know…"

"What about you?"

"I'm warm enough." A faint moan escaped her. "I mean it…I'm warm actually."

"Keep it," Tiresias muttered. "I couldn't save you…just keep it."

A small smile curved on her pale face. "I hear…you southerners…when you drape a cloak…over a woman…means you're married."

Tiresias glanced to the black draping her and shrugged. "Suppose that would make me Qhorin's widow. He's the one who gave it to me after all."

She started to laugh. He smiled but couldn't join her. Kober came up from behind. He took her reins and tied them to his own horse. Tiresias placed a hand on her shoulder. He had to go. She had others to say goodbye to.

His farewell stuck in his throat. She didn't speak either, just a slow breath. He squeezed her shoulder and rode forward as Tormund came up for his goodbye. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he nodded to Kober and Clatton.

"Goodbye, Kober. Clatton."

Kober stared at him. "Fuck you mean by that, ye fuckin' ponce? I know how to live out here. Easier without the lot of yeh. We'll see yeh at Castle Black, aye? Might even beat yeh to camp."

"Hope so," Tiresias muttered.

"Sides, we're the lucky ones." Kober kept his grin, even as it grew fixed. He turned to Clatton. "We are, mate. Fresh meat tomorrow over a raging fire. Two days at most."

"What'd you mean?"

The wild man stared back at him. "Horse meat. What else?"

"Nothing…I just forgot." He briefly imagined Karsi's arm on the spit and decided to keep that morbid image to himself. Kober was no Thenn. And he doubted the man would take kindly to the comparison.

Kober scoffed. "Gods…you lived fancy, didn't you?"

"More than most," Tiresias admitted.

Macha trotted up in front. "All right then. Let's go. We have a whole night's ride ahead. You lot get along."

Kober spat. "All right. After you, crow."

Clatton nodded. "Suit yerself, wildling."

That got a smile from Kober. They rode alongside the river together for a short length before they came to the calm crossing. Before the mountain pass.

Macha continued past with no ceremony. Tiresias made to follow her, just as Kober spoke.

"Oi, Tiresias!"

He turned back. "What?"

"Thanks for getting me knife back."

Tiresias smiled grimly. "Don't drop it again."

Facing forward, he didn't see Kober's reaction. He only heard the three horses make their way across the Milkwater. Rocks spilling as they reached the other side, making their way to the mountain trail.

They rode that night but they didn't hurry. It was too risky to light a torch and they couldn't afford for any horse to break a leg. After only an hour of riding, Tiresias caught a whiff of very distant smoke. He turned back to see a glow on the side of the mountain. A terrible position. Visible to the whole valley. Easy to spot. Far too big for three people.

Or maybe just two…

Was that Karsi's funeral pyre? He almost wished it was. What was the point of her hanging on for another day or so? Even if she couldn't feel pain or cold anymore?

A gnarled growl snapped him back to the present. The wight had not calmed since they had started. Neither of them had. Jaw clenched, he turned back to the front. His mount needed his eyes and attention through this darkness. He checked the binds, shuddering as his fingers passed over the dead flesh.

No use screaming here. Your friends will follow that flame. They'll not hear you. So shut up. Stop scaring the horses. Shut up. Just shut the fuck up!

He breathed in, held it and released on a count. Counting to the river besides him. It barely helped. A night ride required his full attention. And the wight in front refused to calm. It never ceased its protest.

The Free Folk didn't measure distance by leagues or miles, but by days. Macha estimated it was a five-day journey out of the Frostfangs along the Milkwater. They made it in three. It was late in the morning when they saw the Haunted Forest ahead of them. Tiresias nearly wept in relief as the Fist of the First Men came into view, miles downriver.

It didn't help that he had barely culminated ten hours of sleep all together since they started back. None of them had slept well. In between the wights who never slept, less people to share the watch, the limited time they could spend not moving and the very possible threat of an undead army pursuing them, it was difficult to recuperate.

Tiresias stared back to the Milkwater valley. During his watches, underneath the snarls and clicks of their two wights, he listened for the rumbling of something much larger. But nothing came to him. Either they had taken the decoy and were falling on Kober and Clatton in the Frostfangs or they simply hadn't noticed one of their lieutenants being destroyed and two of their soldiers being captured.

He hoped it was the later. Yawning, he turned back and followed the group as they rode out of the valley and south along the Milkwater. None of them suggested a rest. Tiresias didn't want to stop until they had crossed the river and reached the Haunted Forest.

Just get us into the trees. Get us some cover. Out of the open. C'mon. C'mon.

They reached the Fist of the First Men and began to cross over. He didn't know if the wight knew this was its opportunity or whether it was aggravated by the water, but it started to buckle violently midstream. His mount, long since tired of the violent baggage, was quickly distressed.

Not wanting to be caught under the horse if it went down, Tiresias jumped down to the water, taking the reins. Benjen was leading Qhorin's mare and he could see the wight there tormenting her as well.

"C'mon," he muttered, pulling the reins as gently as he could. The water came up to his calves. "Just get across the river. C'mon."

The wight didn't let up and the horse would not calm. It neighed loudly, echoing down the stream. Tiresias winced at the noise, trying to soothe him.

But he was no horse whisperer. And just as the horse was going to rear, he heard Tormund come to his side, feet splashing in the water.

"Get your dagger!" he called. "Cut it loose and carry it across! Give me the reins! I'll get the horse. Go!"

No time to argue, Tiresias threw the reins over without looking, unsheathing his steel dagger. He hid it from the horse as he came to the side. It hadn't panicked at the sight of his steel before, but he wasn't going to take that chance.

He couldn't resist punching the wight in the head before cutting it loose. Tormund was doing his best, but Tiresias still had some difficulty sliding his blade between the binds and the saddle, avoiding the horse's side.

After a few seconds, the rope snapped and he nearly lost the dagger. Sheathing it, he pulled the ropes loose, abandoning them to the Milkwater. Grunting, he tugged the wight, still snarling, off the saddle and into the water.

The horse disappeared quickly, Tormund guiding it to the trees. He was left to pull the wight to shore. It twisted, but he grabbed the feet and dragged it, leaving its head in the water. For a short time, he had some relief. No snarls, no growls, no guttural, gagged groans. It finally shut up, silenced under the river.

It couldn't last though. It started again as he walked up onto shore, following the others into the trees. All were waiting for him. Most had dismounted. His horse had stopped neighing. Benjen was already cutting the other wight loose. They piled them near, but not too close together before sitting down.

Tiresias drained his waterskin before looking to Tormund.

"Your feet?"

"They'll be fine," he grunted. "Boots have been wet before."

Tormund glanced to his own soaked boots and pantlegs, but said nothing, the question going unasked. Tiresias hadn't donned a cloak or a coat since he lost both. The sheepskin went to him at night but he returned it whenever they rode. No one said anything and eventually the glances subsided. Any pretense was gone. Even for those who didn't believe in such things.

Besides, he was a free man. If he was fool enough to be out in the cold with naught but a wool shirt, that was his stupidity to deal with.

"We should go a little farther in before getting warm," Benjen said, lowering his own waterskin. "We can't risk a fire on the treeline."

No one objected. After everyone refilled their skins in the river, they prepared to ride again.

When it came time to load up the wights though, still snarling and twisting, the horses refused. Neighing and whinnying, Qhorin and Tiresias' horses refused to remain still.

Tiresias dropped the wight after the third attempt. Not gently at all.

"It's no use," he said, panting. "They won't take them. They've had enough."

And so have I. Damn it, I hear them when I fucking sleep.

He bit that thought down as Macha spoke up.

"You can put one on mine."

But her horse had seen too much and refused to be still either. One by one, the remaining horses were brought forth and none would allow the wights to be slung across.

"Fuck!" exclaimed Gared, his horse the last to be tested.

"Calm down," Benjen said, as much for himself as for Gared. He ran his hand over his face. "We can't resolve this now. We need to get inland."

Tiresias glanced to the Milkwater and back. "Just rope them. Rope them and drag them along. We have enough still."

Gared knelt to one of the wights. "It could catch on something. Loosen the bounds and they'd get free."

"Well, then we'll catch it again." He sighed. "Benjen's right. We need to move now. Nothing else matters."

Everyone considered it very shortly before agreeing. Within five minutes, they had roped the wights to the saddlebacks. The two usual mounts were spared. And thus, so was Tiresias. He sighed as he mounted, stoking the horse's neck.

We're spared for now. Bit of a reprieve. You're doing good...doing very well..

They didn't make the mistake of driving with the wights behind all of them. First went Macha and Gared. Then a wight behind them, then Benjen. And a wight behind him, then Tormund. Then the spare horse and Tiresias. If any of the wights got loose, they'd be fucked if they didn't notice.

They rode into the Haunted Forest. Faster than when they started north. Slower than when they bolted through the Milkwater valley. Dragging two corpses would slow any party.

When night finally came, they allowed themselves their first fire since the skirmish. Tormund breathed deeply as he placed his bare feet near the flames. Tiresias tried not to react. He knew he stank as well. Besides he was more concerned whether or not Tormund would lose his feet. However, there was no discoloring or loss of dexterity. And the man seemed to be comfortable enough so he relaxed on that front.

As much as he could though. The snarls came through again, though they weren't near the fire. He pressed his palms against his eyebrows, willing them ineptly to just shut the fuck up…

He didn't voice it though. If he let loose, he would just start to scream and they didn't need that. Exhaling through his nose, he saw the others. The weariness in their eyes. The thinning patience. They were holding it together. He must do the same.

Get back to basics. Focus on the necessities.

"How much food do we have?" he asked softly.

"Not that much," Gared stated. He had gone over their supplies before he had sat down. "We should set up some traps before we sleep tonight…still we'll have empty sacks if we make it back."

"When we make it back," Benjen said softly, staring into the fire. "We're out of the Frostfangs. We just have to get back…"

"We're not safe yet, crow," Macha muttered, cutting across him. "They've come into this forest before. We don't have time to hunt. We don't have time to scour."

She looked over to Tiresias. "And we don't have time to fuck about while you bring those two south for Lord Stark. To show the other lords how much we need to cross. We'll not be safe until then."

It was the closest Macha had been to yelling since he known her. She looked back to the flames. He heard her heartbeat slowly calm.

"We should have fished in the Milkwater," Gared muttered. "We could always catch something quick."

"Kober and Karsi were the only fishers with any skill here," Tormund said softly. "Us, we'd just be fuckin' about in the stream."

It took Tiresias a full minute to realize that was the first time anyone had mentioned Karsi or any of the two who took her into the Frostfangs. Had it only been three days...

He eyed his companions. Only five remained of the original ten and none spoke of Karsi. That they sent her off to die. Along with Clatton and Kober. He supposed they never would. People didn't speak of the dead up here. They were too busy fighting it.

Or guarding it. Tiresias twisted back to check, but the two wights were still bound and sufficiently separated. He turned back to the fire. After a moment, he brought his hand up to his cheek. It wasn't just food they were low on. Macha handed out the last of her ointment yesterday. He wasn't the only one who suffered a scratch along the Milkwater.

However, he didn't worry much on that subject. A hard scab formed on his cheek and his wound was protected. It may be ugly, but he was grateful nonetheless.

Willing himself not to disturb it, he lowered his hand and spoke softly.

"I think we should try and sleep. If Tormund wants to wait a while longer until his feet are warmed, then he can wake me for the second watch. I'll wake us all before dawn."

He noticed that no one really objected or agreed to anything explicitly. They either went along with the suggestion or they didn't. For now, sleep seemed agreeable. If anything else, it would help their bodies forget they hadn't eaten tonight.

It became abundantly clear the next day that they would not be able to get the horses to carry the dead men any farther. Yesterday in the river was no fluke. Tiresias couldn't blame them. He wasn't wakened by Tormund last night, but by another attempted scream of alarm from the wights. It didn't leave their camp, but it pierced his sensitive ears. His hand itched for the dragonglass blade at his side…

Gared's ride nearly bolted when they tried to tie the wight down and they gave up trying to force the issue. Losing the horses wouldn't do them any good. But they did need to get going.

Benjen and Macha came to the same conclusion simultaneously, convincing Tormund to relinquish his small axe to Gared for the job. While he went to fetch suitable wood, the rest of them scoured the area for dead weeds and other plants for binding. They had to find enough for two sleds.

Many hands make light the work and soon they were back with a heap of dead forestry. All set to work, except for Tiresias who had little experience constructing sleds. Even slipshod ones like this. He went back to guard duty over the wights. The day made it easier, though the growls persisted. He was getting better at ignoring the smell. More used to it. He took a sniff and stilled.

That's different from last night…

But it wasn't more of the dead. The Army wasn't coming their way. Nothing from the sides. It came from above.

He looked up, through the trees to the white and grey sky. An endless overcast that seemed to be deepening. There was a familiar quiet surrounding them…

"How much longer 'til you're done?" he asked anyone who would answer.

Benjen looked up, shrugging. "Fifteen minutes. Little more. If we don't need to smooth out the bottom. Why?"

"Snow's coming."

Not a particularly ominous statement beyond the Wall, but they knew each other at this point. No smartass remarks came his way. Tiresias heard the work pause and looked to see each of his companions peering to him, then to the sky…

"It's not him," he said, not quite sure how he knew. "But it's a big one."

It will probably last until they reached the Wall. The cold didn't bother him, but the rest of his band were quite susceptible. He could still starve as well. There was no way they could stretch their food supplies for that long. Traveling in the fresh snow would only tire them quicker and exacerbate their hunger.

A gnarled scream pierced the calm before the snowstorm. Tiresias clenched his jaw and breathed slowly.

Aye. You assholes won't get cold or tired, won't you?

He came back to the others starting up again on the sleds. They weren't going to wait until the flurries were falling before they started riding. Checking to see that they were truly alone, that the wights could only scream impotently, he stepped forward and started tying the weeds together.

Even through the dense branches of the Haunted Forest, the snow fell thick. If it weren't for endless trees breaking up the landscape, Tiresias imagined he would have been snowblind by the second day. It was now the fifth day of endless snow. Soft, silent snow.

The wights continued to moan. Clicking in the quiet, white surroundings. Protesting as they were sledded through the forest. Tiresias watched their sled trails and hoof prints behind them with apprehension. At least, at first. Then he remembered they were besieged by falling snow and any path they took would be smooth again in less than an hour.

That was the only benefit of such a storm. Everyone bundled in their furs against the cold. The wind didn't come often, but when it did, it was everything they had to keep on course. Macha kept leading them forward silently. And no one questioned her. What was the point? No one else knew this forest like her. Not even Benjen.

Still he had concerns. Speed was the game now. Persistence. And they were riding straight through the Haunted Forest, determined to be back as quickly as possible.

But they were out of food. Completely. All the dried meat gone. All their blackbread. The quickest route through meant they were passing the most plentiful rivers. The streams they came across were too small to fish. The snow sent the small animals back into their burrows. Their traps were empty in the morning. The bigger game retreated to their dens. Their bows and spears remained unused.

Tiresias hadn't eaten since last night. None of them had. But they weren't stopping to remedy that. He didn't protest though. Something among them had shifted. Not one of them complained or even mentioned hunger. They must have a plan to eat.

What's the plan there…what's going on?...

He jolted and shook himself awake. Turning around, he checked the wight he was dragging behind. Still upside. Still secure. Still growling and moaning with those little clicks like an insect.

Facing the front again, he patted his mount's neck. The horse tolerated the sled. They could eat. Not much. But they could eat still. They managed to find the tall, harsh vegetation not yet covered by the snow.

Macha didn't say how much longer it would be. He was afraid to ask. It would either be too far and send him into despair. Or so close he would become exhausted with excitement.

Blinking, he looked down to see his hand shaking. Dead moans followed him on the sled. A ghost of smile came to him.

I'm already exhausted. God damn it. Just shut the fuck up. Shut the fuck up…

At least he wasn't cold. He took comfort in that. He was dressed like an absolute moron for this weather. Only a long sleeved woolen shirt against this freeze. He had that luxury.

The rest didn't. When they received their last rations, he split up his portion and passed it around. He met only feeble protests to which he responded with the truth.

"I don't feel this cold. You do. So eat."

By this point, everyone knew it was something supernatural. There were no more looks of exasperation at his supposed stupidity. But they didn't treat it as a revelation. Perhaps they were too exhausted to care. Or compared to the fact they were dragging two animated cadavers behind them, his immunity to the cold was not so extraordinary. Either way they didn't question him on it. It wasn't the time. They simply took what he generously and foolishly offered.

However, riding now, the tiny sliver of food he passed around didn't seem to make much of a difference. They fortunately had no problems with thirst. The streams, too thin for fish, were fine for their waterskins. But underneath the wights, the horses and the silence, he had been hearing their stomachs rumble for the past two days.

They couldn't last. But everyone else seemed calm otherwise…so there must be a plan. There had to be.

He discovered it that night. They managed to find shelter from the falling snow. A patch of thick firs meant only a handful of flurries floated through. As Tiresias prepared a fire, Tormund stood with Gared, looking to the rest.

"Which one?" he grunted, removing his fur outercoat. He nodded to Tiresias. "His is the least skinny."

"We need the fat ones. They can push through." Macha muttered, scratching her eyebrows. Her face was bright red. "'Sides, we don't have enough supplies for a pack horse."

Tormund nodded and left with Gared, both silent. Benjen stood on an exhale and followed, removing his black cloak before doing so.

He caught Macha's eye before going back to the fire. They would need a bigger flame than usual if they were to cook the horse meat properly. He wasn't shocked or even ashamed. Perhaps only a little sad, but he knew he'd have no regrets. It was a different world here beyond the Wall. One had to survive by any means. Eating a dead man's horse was not a grievous sin.

They carried you all the way to the Frostfangs and back. We could have fished. You could have hunted. There's game yet in this forest. You could have found it.

The wights' growls cut through his thoughts. Yet again. He looked away, averting Macha's eyes as he brought out his flint and steel.

We can't dally about. We need to get to Castle Black. This is our last meal before our final push. We need the horse's strength.

The falling snow didn't deafen him entirely. He caught the last whinny of the horse before it was cut short. They worked efficiently. They didn't let him suffer and killed him away from the rest.

They were away long enough that Tiresias managed to get the fire blazing hot. Even Macha unfastened her fur. When they finally returned, their arms were red with blood, dragging large pieces of horse meat. Dropping the cuts, they huddled before the fire holding their arms out. The congealed blood nearly frozen.

Macha and Tiresias fit as much meat as they could fit over the spit. When they finished, Benjen reached to his side and offered his skin to them.

"Drink."

"I have water."

Benjen smiled wearily. "It's not water."

Suspicion had little value tonight. So he took the skin and lifted it. He smelled the blood before it hit his mouth. Forcing himself not to gag, he took two draughts and lowered it. He couldn't help but retch.

Tormund was so tired he couldn't laugh. Though he did smile as he pulled his fur over his shoulders.

"Can't take your medicine."

"Suppose not," Tiresias moaned as he passed the skin to Macha. She contained her disgust far better, though he did see her throat tighten significantly.

He turned to Benjen. "You've ruined your waterskin for that."

"We wasted enough of the horse," he murmured, reaching for his own black cloak. "Couldn't even bring half of it back. Had to dump the body over a ravine."

"For the wolves?"

"Aye," Tormund said. "Tonight I fear wolves more than dead men. We need to watch for them. They'll come for the meat. They don't mind the cold."

He really glanced to him for that last remark. But Tiresias had another concern.

"Will they eat it in time?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Before it rises again? Becomes a steed for the army?" The fat was beginning to bubble along the sinew. It was a beautiful sight. "It's just not the Free Folk they're after. They like to ride as we do. And an undead mount would tolerate a corpse."

"We cut the legs clean off," Gared spoke from his corner of the fire, holding his bloodied hands out. "Threw it down in pieces. Did most of the wolves' work for 'em."

Tiresias looked to Tormund and Macha, who seemed quite bored with the whole affair. They had been fighting the White Walkers and their wights for a solid few years now. They knew to leave nothing for the dead.

It never hurt to be safe and ask, but still he felt slightly foolish and fell silent looking to the meat. When Benjen passed around the horse blood around again, he didn't refuse another draught.

They managed to wait until the meat was cooked enough. Whether or not they ate it slow enough as to not be sick, he supposed they would find out later. He did his best. Diarrhea and cramps would certainly curtail their speed.

Tears came to his eyes though as he bit into his piece. For a brief moment, he didn't hear the wights growling beside them. They didn't matter. He had food…

The reprieve was short. That night they were full. The next morning and midday they ate cold cuts. But they didn't have time to properly dry the meat. So before they camped the next night, they threw it away. Along with the blood.

That was three days ago. The snow was still falling. And he was weak. Weaker than he could ever remember being. He could only sit on his horse as they rode on. He focused on the saddle as he ducked his head, keeping his ears open. Would he actually hear anything? He didn't seem to have the energy. Somehow, even the cries of the wights seemed duller as they were dragged behind them.

At least he wasn't hungry anymore. He hadn't shit in two days. All he could do was drink. Water was no issue. It was never in short supply. Which was good because he always seemed to be parched…

He reached his waterskin...and couldn't open it. He blinked and focused on the skin. His hands were trembling.

Stop it. Stop it. You're not cold.

Eventually he managed to hold the cork and pulled it free. He lifted it with two hands, swaying from side to side with the horse as it walked. He didn't spill a drop. He was used to it. How long had he been in this saddle?

Eight days since the Milkwater…nine maybe…Stop it! You haven't lost your head. You're not insane. Not yet. You're just hungry.

A part of him still tasted the horse blood as he drank. He wondering if that was wishful thinking. His stomach seemed mixed about it.

After securing his waterskin, he gazed to the front. To Macha and Benjen. The First Ranger had started leading more and more the past day. Was that good news? He didn't know. He longed to ask how much farther they had to go. It couldn't hurt, could it?

But no one else asked. No one said a word. Whether they didn't have the energy to complain or the inclination, Tiresias didn't want to be the first. They were all hungry. They were all tired.

But the rest of them were cold. So what could he say? What right did he have to whinge?

Lowering his head again, he closed his eyes. He had had enough of the all-encompassing white.

He didn't mean to sleep. He supposed he didn't really, but the sounds of a quiet forest lulled in and out and he didn't do much to control it. The low wind moaned above their heads. The angry dead men growled. A heavy pile of snow fell off a branch. A small river in the distance. An owl hooted. Was it evening already?

He blinked blearily to check.

No, the owl just can't sleep.

He smiled slightly, breathing in, sniffing. He could smell the cold though he couldn't feel it. It blanketed everything, but through it he could still detect the firs, the pines, the moss. The dirt rich with minerals. Woodsmoke from a fire. The congealed horse blood on Benjen's cloak, Tormund's coat…

Tiresias opened his eyes, struggling to do so fully, and looked ahead. He clapped his face to wake up, startled to find the scab still on his cheek…

Macha was now trailing Benjen as he led their starving band. He took several deep breaths, trying to wake up before sniffing the air again. It was faint. He didn't know if the others would be able to smell it. But it was there. Woodsmoke…

Some sliver of reason found its way through his brain fog as he tried to process this. He couldn't shout right away. Could be nowhere near the main camp. Could be the fire of an errant group of Free Folk. The tribes who declined Mance's proposal. Perhaps some Thenns…

But that paranoia left quickly. That woodsmoke was south of there. Benjen was leading them straight to it.

And it wasn't just one fire. Too much smoke. Too many distinct woods bunched together. It was them…it had to be…

Ahead of him, he saw Benjen and Macha straighten up on their mounts. After a few seconds, they exchanged words and continued on, slightly energized. They must have smelled it as well. After a few seconds, Benjen looked back and met his eye. From the middle, Tiresias saw the question there and nodded.

Benjen turned back and led them around a corner. As he turned himself, he came along a stream, following its course.

Tiresias stared. He recognized this stream. After a minute staring, he looked up ahead to the opposite shore, where Mance had shook his hand. Wished him farewell and good fortune.

Just outside of the camp…twenty minute ride from the outer parts of the settlement…just keep going, man…keep going buddy. You'll have hay tonight or something else. You'll be fed…

He patted the horse's neck before reaching behind and pulling the wight sled taut. The stream was shallow enough not to get down and guide the damn thing across by hand. They all made it across with no ceremony and led their mounts up through the trees.

That was the last water they'd have to cross before the camp. He resisted announcing it. Besides, the woodsmoke was prominent now. The rest of their band, Gared and Tormund, noticed right after the stream and sat straight up. Tormund glanced about to the sides, recognition in his eyes as he started to laugh.

"I know this place! We're close! You hear that, you fuckers?! We're nearly home!"

"Aye, well, we're not home yet," Macha called back. "We're not safe out here, so let's shut up and keep our eyes open. They could strike anywhere, right?"

Still smiling, Tormund quieted and gave his own wight sled an inspection. Then he focused on the surroundings as they rode deeper into the wood, just following the path.

Tiresias took a look himself. The Free Folk who had lived here on the outskirts were curiously absent. The snow made scattered living more impossible by the day. That or they had moved entirely.

Either way, they weren't here. They rode farther and farther without seeing any tents. Not even one. His breath grew quicker, his heart pounded as they rode. Anxiety or excitement? Probably both.

It's not the end…you still need to get these creatures to Castle Black. Past the Wall. Where he can't follow. Not yet anyway. So don't get ahead of yourself.

Still, he could be excited for food. For the mostly sinewy dried meat. Whatever they had managed to hunt down among these trees…

This place wasn't abandoned. They didn't leave. He could still smell the woodsmoke ahead of him. All the low burning fires. These weren't phantom scents.

Macha called out to Benjen to halt the dwindled caravan. Tiresias pulled his reins gently, still swaying slowly as he stopped. She pulled away from the line and rode back to address them.

"I need two volunteers…to get down and escort the dead as we go through," she stated, pausing in the middle to collect her strength. "I don't want any scared bastard to see them and come tearing through with dragonglass and us too far away on horseback to stop it. Anyone?"

Tiresias blinked to find himself on the ground. Collecting his breath, he stood away from his steed and walked to the sled behind him.

In the end, they grouped the two sleds together, the horses pulling side by side. Tormund, Gared and Tiresias flanked them. Tiresias pulled the sheepskin tighter around him. Macha had tossed it to him as she rode back.

"Just in case you wanted to be seen as a man. Not a demon. Or an idiot," she said, calling back to him.

She and Benjen pulled the rest of the horses forward, slowly to match the pace of the guards on the ground. Funny enough, he didn't find it difficult to walk once he got going. If he stopped though…

The woodsmoke still filled his nostrils. More and more potent as they stalked forward. The wights snarled as they were pulled and he didn't feel like hearing more. The horses blocked his view of the front. He glanced to the side, as they passed tree after tree in the falling snow. Fuel. That's what he saw of the forest now. Fuel and shelter…

He blinked, staring off. Was he hungry enough to hallucinate? Macha and Benjen hadn't said anything. Was he the only one?

"Tormund. Gared."

Pointing off, he felt their eyes follow his arm. Before he had to let it fall. "You see that?"

He heard the smile in Tormund's relieved sigh. "Aye…aye."

The small glow to their left multiplied as they stepped closer and closer. There was no way Macha and Benjen didn't see them. Still they did not shout out. Gave no notice of their arrival.

It was understandable. Even his brain, starved for sleep and substance, knew that they were better off riding through with little hearsay. Who knew how the Free Folk would react to their captive wights?

He briefly glanced to Tormund, Gared and himself before laughing silently. This was the group who would stop frightened Free Folk from attacking the wight? They barely had the energy to stand, let alone defend anything.

He assumed they all understood that. So he kept quiet and kept walking. The glows from the fires came closer and soon he was in the midst of Free Folk tents.

From one of the fires, he detected a variety of meat being smoked. It caused him to salivate out of control. When he swallowed and continued to walk, his stomach protested. Another few seconds and he could tell what was over the fire. Two squirrels and a rabbit…

He shook his head and focused on the path ahead. It was the middle of the day. The Free Folk were out and they couldn't walk through unnoticed. People just didn't walk in from the north. Not anymore. And he could only imagine how they looked.

They got their first straggler. A young man dropped the wood he was carrying and started to follow behind them. Tiresias glanced to the wights, still strapped to the sleds, unable to twist free. They still growled against the gags.

Tormund gave him a look, resting on his hand on his axehead as he walked. Under the sheepskin, he placed his own hand on his dagger handle. The steel one.

He didn't keep count of the Free Folk who followed. He tried to at first, but as he counted, they hiked deeper and deeper into camp and he was thrown by the people he saw. It was dark when they came this way the last time, before the sun had risen. Now it was full of shouts. Life. Tens of thousands of people.

How long had it been since he heard people talking so freely? Without fear of being heard? How long were they gone for? Just a month, probably…or was it longer?

When he was here last, it had seemed desolate. Starving…it hadn't changed. He saw it. Life was still hard…but the smells of food, what little there was, seemed overwhelming and it was all he could do to keep moving forward. He could hardly care about the people who followed.

As long as they stayed away. As they moved farther into the inner circle of the camp, their return from their trek, from the north, was not so obvious. The stragglers drew some eyes. But the wights were on the ground level and muzzled. They didn't draw many eyes fortunately.

Not that no one tried. An older woman shouted to one of the stragglers.

"Caye! What's goin' on?"

A patched-bearded young man responded. "They returned, Aunt! They got—"

With no warning, Tormund turned and punched the young man in the face. He went down instantly. Gared and Tiresias kept walking, not willing to leave the wights unguarded, but he heard Tormund mutter behind him.

"Any shouting this and I fuckin' gut you, boy. I'll use the last of my strength to do it."

He caught up with them, looking straight ahead. Tiresias heard the stragglers following again and noted a significant decrease in their numbers. But he did hear one pair of feet running up to them from the west. Turning, he squinted against the afternoon sun but relaxed when he saw who it was.

"Tormund!" Ygritte said as she landed on the trail. She hugged the man, letting him go immediately. "You made it."

"Aye," Tormund grunted, eyes back forward.

"Gods, you stink."

"Better things to do out there than bathe."

She fell in step with them, looking down to their prize. "Two of them?"

"Aye."

"Why two of them?"

Tormund nodded to him. "His idea."

Tiresias checked the sideview before turning back. "Insurance."

"Wot?"

"Forget it. Does Mance know we're here?"

Ygritte unslung the bow from her back, taking out one arrow.

"If he doesn't, he will soon. Dalba was with me. He went off to find Mance. I came over to help you." She nocked the arrow, but didn't pull back, pointing it down. "Where's Karsi and Kober?"

"Karsi's dead." Tormund exhaled through his nose. "Kober and the other crow went back into the Frostfangs to lay a false trail. They'll be coming back in another month or so."

"Kober and the Halfhand?"

"No," Gared grunted. "Kober and Clatton. Qhorin's dead."

The black brother kept his venom well-buried, but Tiresias heard it. They didn't have time to be offended. It was still a race to Castle Black. How would they resist collapsing tonight? Not moving for days after…

When they came to Mance's tent, still in the same clearing, Dim Dalba was there waiting for them. He came forward as Benjen and Macha dismounted, with some assistance. Their legs shook as they met the ground. Dim Dalba greeted Macha and Tormund, who could barely walk forward.

"I sent word to Mance. He'll be here shortly." Taking in the sight of the two wights, he then looked to the stragglers and whistled. "Hey, get these horses fed!"

Tiresias looked blearily as their trusty steeds were attended to. Four fewer than they had set out with.

Just like us. If you don't count Orell. He was burned right there.

The wights were loosed from the horses before they were led away and the remaining band of hunters gathered around them automatically. Dim Dalba beckoned them into the hut.

"Come. Rest. Eat. Get warm. We'll watch the creatures. We won't let them out of our sight."

"We're not letting them out of our sight," Tiresias stated, his voice low and hoarse. He took a deep breath. "We're bringing into the tent. We're not leaving them in sight to scare or rile anyone. Not taking that fucking chance. Not now."

Dim Dalba glanced to Tormund and Macha, who nodded. Bending down with a numbed groan, Tiresias picked up the rope and pulled a wight into the tent. Bringing the gnarled snarls with him.

Tormund pulled the second one through the tent flaps. A group of Free Folk followed and stood over the pair after they deposited them to the side. Ygritte made to follow, but Dim Dalba posted her outside with her bow. The wights had a fresh set of guards. Their faces wary, but resolute. They had seen dead men before. He heard others gathering outside.

Pulling the sheepskin off, he let it fall to the ground as he stumbled to the fire. He fell into the farthest spot, letting those who needed warmth sit the closest. The remains of their band sat down gingerly, removing their gloves and boots, flexing their digits in the heat. It was an ugly sight.

Tiresias didn't want to spend his scant energy to lift his arms. He blinked and saw that someone had put a bowl in his hands. Something killed and cooked recently…

Steam rose from the meat, but he ignored the spoon, using his hand to shove the fresh rabbit into his mouth. He breathed through his nose as he chewed, trying to calm himself. Trying to gain control. Tears welled in his eyes. He was so hungry…

You eat too much, you'll be sick. You know this. Just swallow a bit at a time…

He swallowed the whole bite instantly. After it passed and he could breathe again, he panted a bit, staring into the fire.

A few missed meals and I'm this…Jesus...

He set the bowl down and breathed, wiping the tears from his eyes. Why did he feel like weeping? It wouldn't do. Not in front of these people.

Besides, there were only two people in this tent comfortable moaning. And both of them were dead, their growls never ceasing.

"Is there water?" he grunted.

A full skin found its way into his hand. After a long draught, Gared, in the middle of his own rabbit, gestured for it. As the skin made its way around, he looked to his companions. Macha and Benjen ate with some dignity, but they couldn't hide their hunger. No one else looked ready to cry though.

Tiresias sucked his fingers and picked up the bowl again. His hand shook as he spooned a small piece of rabbit into his mouth. He chewed it for a full minute before swallowing. Then he set the plate down, waiting a bit before he would eat another bite.

Halfway through his meal, the tent flaps opened. Tiresias recognized the man's scent before he looked up to see Mance. He was the King beyond the Wall and he felt some absurd notion to stand. However as he pressed his hands to his knees, Mance gestured him and the others to cease immediately.

"Keep seated."

Grateful, Tiresias took another swig of water. Mance didn't join them at the fire right away. As he tore off a small piece of blackbread, he heard the man stalk over to their prize. A renewed round of growling rose from the side. Mance didn't respond. When he stalked over to the fire and sat, his face was set.

"When you're ready to leave for Castle Black, I'll escort you with my men," he stated. "We'll ride with you until the edge of the forest. Make sure no one panics seeing these two."

"Is it still snowing?" Macha asked.

Mance nodded. "Might stop by tomorrow. Shouldn't hinder you lot too much. The path to Castle Black has been kept clear. The Free Folk are beginning to move closer to the Wall."

Benjen glanced to him. "What do our black brothers have to say about that?"

"I wouldn't know." Mance rubbed his face, scratching his greying shadow beard. "No crow has ventured from Castle Black since you lot. I doubt they know. They just keep watch from up top. We see their torches on the Wall at night."

He glanced around. "What happened to the others? Karsi? Kober? Qhorin? Clatton?"

Tormund offered the update on the missing members of their band. Tiresias stared into the flames as Mance took it in. The largest fire he had seen since the Milkwater. When the White Walker came around the corner. A tremor ran through his chest and he shook it out. Almost like a horse.

"You all right there, Tiresias?" Mance asked, in that wary tone of his.

Tiresias almost smirked. "Not yet. Maybe when I get to Castle Black. These two with us."

"We'll get you there tomorrow night," Mance promised. "When you return, we'll leave you three to cross the field alone. Maybe Macha. She's been to the gate before. As a messenger. We need just one horn blast from the Wall. Not two…

"We'll be there tomorrow morning," Tiresias muttered low. "We ride tonight."

The fire was strong. And its music almost drowned out the dead. It filled the silence that followed his suggestion.

No…no, an order. A demand? Who was he to give any of those?

But he was right. He knew it. In his weary deluded state, he knew it. He looked and met their eyes before continuing.

"We have to move," he stated. "They have to be brought south of the Wall. And the longer we rest in one spot, the more time we give them to realize what has happened."

Benjen shared a glance with Macha. "Tiresias…it won't matter, you know. Lord Stark still has to show the Northern lords what we captured before the Free Folk are allowed south. When we bring the wights through the tunnel, they won't be able to follow us right away. It's another month, at least. You might kill yourself if you don't rest properly."

"I'll need a full month to rest after what happened, Benjen," he responded. "Aye, we're tired. We're hungry. But if I lay and sleep any more than a few hours, if I eat any more, my body will refuse to move. This is just another stop in the snow for us. Let's treat it like such. We can't let it be our recuperation."

Whether it was his augmented senses or the fact that he had traveled with this lot for over a month, he sensed agreement from all of them. Bitter agreement, but still they were aligned.

Mance sensed it too. "You'll need different horses."

He stood and turned to the others in the tent. "At midnight, wake them. Don't let them sleep any longer."

"Tormund, Macha," Benjen said. "Don't hate me for suggesting this, but you don't have to come with us tomorrow. Gared, Tiresias and I need to return to the Wall. You two don't…"

"Fuck off, Stark," Tormund grunted. "All the shit I've swallowed to get those two here and I'm gonna just pass them off to you? Get fucked."

Benjen grinned. "All right, then. Tomorrow morning, the Wall."

For the first time since they left, all of them laid to sleep without volunteering for the first watch. Tiresias laid with his head closer to the fire. The crackles tuned out the gnarled growls just a bit. And it wasn't too warm…

Despite his caution yesterday, Tiresias felt his stomach protest as he rode. As the cramps came, he clenched his teeth and continued on. Their trail south, first marked by torchlight in the night, began to be lit by the sun. What little of it there was. What should have been a red and orange tinged morning simply became gray and then white. The snow wasn't letting up and Tiresias was back under the sheepskin.

Which he would have been anyway. No one else knew for sure. And Macha and Tormund were no gossipers. So he thought...

Then he remembered the man's face. When they set off just after midnight. Through his puffy eyes, Tormund gave him a knowing smile as he donned the sheepskin.

Tiresias sighed. By the time, he returned to the Wall, his secret, just a rumor before, will be common knowledge among all the Free Folk. That bearded bastard will make it so.

He looked down before him. A sled dragged before him. The wights, never content to be still and silent, seemed to be screaming more and more behind their gags. They hadn't let up since they left. He glanced to the Free Folk walking alongside. It certainly didn't help their nerves. Fingers twitching. Eyes glancing. Heartbeats racing.

Was the trail back to Castle Black truly this long? It didn't seem so before.

The snow fell silently through the trees onto the tents. Mance said they were moving more and more south, but they should have been free of the encampment by now. Thankfully, at this hour, most were sleeping. Even with the King beyond the Wall, a hefty escort and two dead men, their ride went unheralded.

When they were finally free of the tents, it must have been about an hour past sunrise. He could only guess. His heart beat faster and faster as the sounds of the camp coming alive echoed behind him. He listened closely for any other sound. A billowing wind. Growls and clicks from a thousand men. The clink of ice armor following them…

Nothing. Just a quiet forest. If only he could ignore the two dead motherfuckers in front…

He drank from his skin, chewed his small allowance of dried horse meat. Staring forward. He didn't recognize any of this. Should he? How far were they? They were so close…

He wished more than ever that he could breathe and calm himself as he once could. The way his mother taught him on the steppes of Essos. Breathe in on a count, hold on a count, exhale on a count…

Your mother on the Essosi steppes…what the fuck are you talking about? That's not you! That was never you! You're not Tiresias! Not that much!

Caught between laughing at himself and cursing himself, he shook his head, too weak to smile. And tried to remember where his mother had actually taught him that. He stared down at the saddle for a long time, trying to picture it.

But the old world didn't come to him. He couldn't bring it forth in his head. It just…wasn't there. This world was too much…it was here. The white was all-encompassing. Snow was everywhere. To the sides. All around him. He gazed forward, ahead of the horses, and saw nothing but white. Just a blanket of…

He blinked, focusing. That white seemed a little off from the rest. He saw some blue there and some platforms resting in the clouds. It seemed textured…

Closing his eyes, he breathed and opened them again. It wasn't an illusion. The Wall was in sight. They would reach it. They would actually reach it.

He didn't cry out and shout. The others had to concentrate still and they would see it soon enough. After a few minutes, he heard the front guard call out. No cheers echoed through the forest, but Benjen, Macha, Tormund and Gared all turned to look at each other. Job well done, he supposed. They had lost half their band doing so.

But it wasn't over yet. As they came to the edge of the forest, they halted about a hundred yards from the treeline. No horns sounded from the Wall.

Tiresias kept riding until he was level with Macha and the remaining black brothers. As they focused on Mance, he heard the sleds being tied to his and Benjen's horse.

Mance sighed, nodding to Gared, Benjen and him. "All right. You have your wight. Two of them. Our fate is in your hands. Go save us. If you can."

Benjen, Gared and Macha started to ride, but stopped when they saw Tiresias hadn't moved.

"I need to speak to Mance," he said. "I'll see you at the tree line."

He didn't ask permission. He didn't need to. But Benjen still needed a few seconds before he continued to ride, Gared following him.

Tiriesas waited until they were out of earshot before coming up next to Mance. The wight still growled on the sled.

He leaned in. "Keep moving your people close. Right up to here. And start building some defenses. I don't know when they'll come, but when the Army of the Dead arrives, they'll run through these trees."

Mance smiled as he looked to Tiresias. "Anything else?"

He couldn't return the smile. "I don't know how long we'll be. Lord Stark will send out the ravens. Get the lords together in a fortnight. He'll start marching up again with more men…but it might be a month before you lot are marching through that tunnel. And that's a generous estimate."

"Your point?"

Tiresias gripped the reins. "If any of your people can get south without the Night Watch's or the Northern lords noticing. People who could hide out in the Gift and lie low until this is passed…I'd start now. Not wait for the North to say welcome."

Mance peered his piercing gaze, still smiling. "Lord Stark, the Lord Commander Mormont and I reached an agreement. You were there. You telling me to break it?"

"That tunnel is small," Tiresias replied. "It'd take a long time for everyone to pass through. See you."

He nudged his horse and rode off, dragging the grumbling corpse behind. He hoped that was time well spent. He saw the thought in Benjen's eyes too as he joined them. They took their spots at the front while Gared and Macha followed, watching their captives. They rode from the treeline, making their way to the Wall.

Tiresias didn't look back. The anxiety, which had quelled the past few hours, was rising again in his chest. He could see the tunnel. The exit from this wasteland. Back to the north. To Winterfell. They just had to reach it…

A horn echoed from the top. He supposed if he pressed his ears, he could hear them scrambling on the top of the Wall, but he didn't try. Resisting the urge to ride faster, he kept pace with Benjen.

No second blast echoed from the Wall. He had wondered if he and Macha would trigger that alarm, but two black cloaks saw them to the ice without any harassment.

So far…

Reaching the iron gate, they halted. Tiresias gazed up to the top, trying to see. Did Ser Alliser managed to overthrow Jeor Mormont? Were the Winterfell soldiers still here? Why wasn't the gate fucking opening? Would fire reign down upon them? Destroying the wights they risked so much for…

He heard a clank before the iron gate started to rise. Exhaling, he stared to the ground in the tunnel. Did the Lord Commander grant his request...

"Yes…" he breathed, upon seeing the iron crate. Jumping down from his horse, he ran to it, the sheepskin falling forgotten to the snow and started to pull it north. He was soon out of breath, despite it being on a sled.

Macha came up besides him. "What's this?"

"Their traveling crate," he grunted, looking over his shoulder to Benjen and Gared. "C'mon! Bring them over!"

Once they're in, they'll shut up. Once they're in, they'll shut up…

As Benjen and Gared jumped down, he heard noises in the tunnel. He turned to see torches coming toward them. Dozens of men.

Whether they wore black or Stark colors, he didn't care. The wights were being pulled toward them. Macha and he unlatched and cracked the crate open.

She looked to him. "It's too small for two."

"We'll make them fit. We have to."

Shaking her head, she drew her knife as Benjen pulled the first wight next to them. They cut the binds to the sled, which the wight immediately kicked to the side, right into his shins.

"Fuck…" Tiresias growled as he threw the sled away and grabbed the dead ankles. The men in the tunnel were almost here…

Weakened as they were, they had practiced and had far too much experience handling this petulant cadaver. Benjen gripped the shoulders, Macha the side and they lifted and dropped it into the crate.

Gared pulled his sled forward as the men exited the tunnel. Tiresias looked up to see Jory and Gord among the Stark soldiers. Along with a fair amount of black brothers. Their steel drawn, they looked stupefied at the scene.

"Tiresias?" Jory stared at him. "You're alive? What is it? Did you…"

Then he saw the wight in the crate. "What the fuck is that?!"

"Not now, Jory," Tiresias growled as he bent down, gripping its ankles as Macha cut the second wight loose from the sled. His shins weren't getting bashed again. He had had enough.

Benjen and Gared gripped the wight as well, staring down as it tried for the last time to break free, growling, screaming against the gag.

"It's a demon!" A black brother yelled. "Kill it! Kill it now—"

"You touch this demon, I'll tear your fucking goddamned throat out!" Tiresias screamed. He turned to Jory, eyes wild, his hands shaking from holding the wight down. "No one touches them, Jory! No one!"

Jory barely nodded before he looked back to the band. "On three. One, two, three."

They lifted and deposited the wight on top of the first. They dumped it the other way so it would fit. Face down so it tangled with the first. Tiresias glanced to the first wight. They hadn't watched it since they had dumped it in the crate. Since Macha cut it loose. Its gag…its shouldn't have been able to work its gag down its face like that…as it struggled.

The gag slipped below its mouth as Tiresias twisted to Gared. He was the nearest to the lid.

"Shut it!" he yelled. "Shut it now—"

His yell was muted by the scream emitting from the box. It stopped him entirely. He couldn't move or speak. He could only be still as the wight sounded the alarm, piercing his brain as the White Walker did before…

It stopped as suddenly as it began. Tiresias blinked to find himself on his knees. Gared was laying on top of the crate, the lid shut.

But the scream…its echo. He turned, panting to the forest, to the north to hear it bellow out…it traveled far…farther than the Haunted Forest? Far enough to reach the Fist of the First Men, the Frostfangs and beyond?

The snow continued to fall in the quiet and Tiresias still panted. They were safe. He was sure. It didn't travel that far. It couldn't have. The Army was too far away and the snow fell too heavy. It couldn't escape a storm of such silence.

Such was his hope when he stood and faced the men, stunned into silence as well. Benjen and Gared latched the crate shut. The screaming wight was muffled by iron.

The First Ranger looked to the men. "Let's get this through. Now."

After a few seconds, Gord stepped forward. Followed by two Winterfell soldiers and three black brothers. They began to push it through. And Tiresias followed. It didn't escape his notice that Macha returned to her horse without a word and rode out north again. Across the open field.

The snow was still falling on the other side. But as Tiresias walked through, his neck prickled as the protection fell on him. As he exited the Wall, he exhaled. His chest lighter than it had been in months, since he had left Winterfell.

He collapsed against the ice, falling into a sit. He was still panting with relief when Jory squatted before him.

"Tiresias…what happened?"

He swallowed before he spoke. "Guard that crate, Jory. Guard it with your lives."

A south wind howled against the Wall, but it didn't chill him. Didn't frighten him at all.

"Get a message to Winterfell. Tell Lord Stark to send his fucking ravens."