There was no road now- that had gone weeks hence. After that there had been a trail, the thin but steady lines of cart wheels and smattering marks of horses and men, brown and wet in the thick snow . But that was gone too by now, and eventually even the hoof prints had stopped, and the footprints soon after them. Nothing was left, but the cold and the white and the dead silence that her own light steps hardly touched.
It was cold- colder than anything she had ever known, but it did not matter. She hardly felt the chill of the wind that whispered against her hair or sliced across her cheeks when the night came. Her eyes hardly shut. Her steps carried her over the harsh blue and dancing shadows of the long nights in moonlit winter- under the sagging bows thick with snow- across the open fields so dazzling bright in the brief sun that she had to shield her eyes.
Start of an Arya/Gendry I wrote for my friend’s birthday